He stands from the bed. “I need a shower first,” he tells her as he walks over toward us. Scared of what he might say, I decide to make my move first.
“I need to grab something from the kitchen.” I slip out of the room before both of them, bolting down the stairs to grab the papers I’d left on the counter before anyone else sees them. I stall as long as I can before I make my way back to my bedroom. Thankfully, it’s empty when I get there.
I put the papers away in my nightstand before I flip off the lights and crawl back into my bed. The smell of Leo still lingers, taunting me.
He always is.
CHAPTER 11
LEO
Sol spends thirty minutes cursing me out, telling me to stay away from the fighting, stay away from Tinsley, and generally to stop being an asshole. She’d order me out of the house if she could, but the will requires Tinsley and her husband to reside together until such time a child has been born. Not just conceived but born.
This means that Tinsley is going to go back to the turkey baster, and that pisses me off. It’s not just that she’s rejecting me, but I’ve had a taste of her now. I am not done with her, and I know she’s not done with me either. She’s aching between her legs just like me. Up until the very end, she was with me one hundred percent. Her fingernails left divots in my shoulders. Her teeth scraped open the wound on my mouth. She was into it. She wanted me, and I wanted her. It is so simple. If it weren’t for the damned will—nah, if the will didn’t exist, I wouldn’t have gotten within ten feet of her pussy.
I rub my hand across my forehead trying to figure out how to solve this problem. I do not want her getting her baby from a sperm bank. The baby in her belly should be mine. The idea of her carrying another man’s child is like pouring acid on an open wound. That shit just ain’t right.
Think, Leo, think.
Tinsley does things because of money. She married me to keep her fortune. She’s going to the clinic and getting artificially inseminated to keep her fortune. Maybe I need to pay her to take my place as the father of her child. Or maybe she doesn’t want me because I’m a poor dock worker.
Can I get a different job? Can I fight in matches with bigger stakes and use that money to buy a business? How big of a business? Tinsley’s brownstone costs more than I can earn in any fight—at least the underground ones. My income situation is shit, so I have to find another way.
I decide to call Logan for advice.
“I pissed off someone. A woman,” I add. “How do I smooth things over?”
“What kind of woman?”
I think for a minute. Sweet, hot, sexy, nice. “Nice girl. Wears designer things but is generous.” I haven’t missed the Cartier bracelet Sol wears.
“Whenever my dad screws up, he always buys my mom flowers. I know it sounds lame, but it seems to work. They usually have noisy make-up sex, which is as disgusting at it sounds, but that’s how I got my little sister Ronnie, so it must work.”
Flowers feel weak to me, but I don’t have better ideas. “What kind of flowers?”
“Man, I don’t know. Go to a florist and tell them that you fucked up and that you need a fucked-up bouquet.”
“Okay.” I almost hang up before I remember to say, “Thanks.”
“Wait,” Logan says. “Is the woman you made mad your sister Sol? Because I can come over and comfort her.”
I scowl. “You talk to my sister and I will cut your nuts off.”
“Damn, Leo, do you have to be that way?”
“Yes. I’ve seen you with other women and hung out with you at bars. Sol is not for you.”
“I am a decent guy,” Logan protests. “I have a job. I pay my own bills.”
“Logan, you are no better than me. You’re a dock worker who supplements your income fighting. Sol hates fighting.”
He grunts. “Nothing wrong with a little fisticuffs. Maybe if your sister wasn’t so uptight you would be able to fight more. You should just introduce us, and I’ll make it right for both of you.”
“That sounds like a nightmare. Thanks for your advice. I’ll catch you later.” I hang up before he comes up with any more terrible ideas.
“That’s all I’m getting for $50?”
The florist tucks her hands into the pockets of her green apron and nods. “Flowers are expensive,” she tries to explain.
The bouquet is anemic. It looks like I’m barely sorry for anything. If I give this to Tinsley, she would have every right to slap me in the face. I press a hand against my front pocket and the wad of cash. I can already feel it shrinking.