Who am I to knock that down?
“You’re only sixteen, Paige. Don’t tie yourself to one person.”
“Our mother was sixteen when she had you.”
“And look how well that turned out,” I say sarcastically.
“I think you turned out great, August.” It’s the first time someone has said that to me as if I’m not a major disappointment.
I walk over and pat her head before I step into the kitchen and open the bag. The smell hits me straight away, and my mouth starts salivating at the thought of eating the delicious treats right there in front of me. I glance at Paige. “I can have them all?” I ask, hopeful.
Paige giggles. “Of course. I made them for you.”
I put one in my mouth and instantly regret not eating enough over the last few days because I know this packet of goodness will be gone before she leaves.
“I can make you more. I bake savory things as well. Beckham prefers them.”
“If you cook it, I’ll eat it.” I wink while stuffing a blueberry tart in my mouth next. She ambles to the living room, which is in front of the open kitchen, and sits, reaching for the remote. She flicks it on and keeps flipping channels.
“Where’s your Netflix?” she asks, glancing at me over the back of the couch.
“Don’t have it.”
Paige gasps then shakes her head. “What do you watch then?”
I shrug. “Nothing.”
“You don’t watch TV?” she asks, clearly surprised.
“No. I work around the house, then pass out.”
Hearing a knock on the front door, I eat the last pastry as I head over to answer it. Glenn stands there, his hands on his trousers which holds his gun, and he’s dressed in full uniform.
I had forgotten he’s a cop. Well, almost.
Stepping back, I open the door wider. Glenn marches in, offering me a nod before he sees Paige sitting on the couch, still trying to flip through the television channels.
“Paige.”
She turns at her father’s voice, and her eyes narrow as she glances at him, then to me. “You told him I was here?” she asks.
“You know you need to ask permission.”
Paige stands from the couch, and her hands go up in the air. “He’s my brother.” Her voice raises as the words leave her mouth. “I should be allowed to see him whenever I want.”
I hear Glenn sigh. “Go out front while I speak to August for a moment, please.”
She huffs but does as he says, grumbling us as she leaves.
Glenn eyes me up and down. I guess he could be intimidating to some, but I’ve dealt with a lot scarier people than this man before me. “She’s clearly going to keep visiting you.”
I nod because we both know it.
He scratches his head then checks outside the door where she’s waiting by his cop car.
“Two afternoons a week. If she comes more than that, you have to let me know. Can I trust she will be safe here, August?”
“She’ll be safe. You have my word.” He turns and calls to Paige, who comes back to the door with a sullen look on her face.
“Two weekdays after school. Don’t push your luck,” Glenn says to Paige.
She smiles widely and wraps her arms around her father’s waist. “Thank you, Daddy.” She beams up at him.
Glenn assesses me while still holding a hand on his daughter. It makes me happy to see she knows what it’s like to be loved—something I’ve never had.
“She is to leave before dinner.” I nod at his words.
Glenn leaves, and Paige stays until around six o’clock.
Paige comes over the next day, bringing more food, for which I’m thankful. And that’s her limit for that week. But the following week when she comes, she asks me to meet Beckham. She even told me what I should wear. And who the fuck am I to argue with a teenager?
We make our way to the local café where he’s meeting us. When we enter, I spot him straight away, only because Paige squeaks next to me as she runs over to him. He hugs her and then pulls her back, offering me his hand as Paige grips herself around him.
“August, I’m Beckham. It’s good to meet you.” I nod, appreciating how nice his manners are. I, on the other hand, would not have been like him at that age. I slept with them then left them. It was easier.
No attachments.
No problems.
No trouble.
Beckham steps back when I nod, and I see he also brought someone with him. Behind him, sitting at the table is rich girl.
I smirk and pull out the seat opposite her. “Rich girl.”
“Prick,” she retorts, which only makes my mouth quirk up higher at her sassiness.
“You two know each other?” Paige asks.
“We go way back. But how does your boyfriend know her?”
“That’s my brother,” Rylee says, clearly confused, and shakes her head.
“You’re dating a Harley?” I ask Paige, then look at Beckham. She shrugs. I turn back to Rylee. “How do your parents feel about that? Their son dating a girl who isn’t wealthy?”