“So?” He raises a shoulder.
“So?” I shoot him a sideways glance. How did I not know my boyfriend is loaded? Is that why he refused to hold down a nine-to-five of any kind to pay the bills? Is he that spoiled? Do I even know this man that was my friend before he became my boyfriend?
“I don’t know why you have to carry books around. Why not throw them away and—”
I march toward him and grab the handle of my suitcase. “Give that to me.”
“Lena, I only meant, why do you have physical books? Why don’t you get a Kindle?”
“Because it’s not the same thing.”
“Eh?” He blinks. “They would carry the same books in electronic form.”
“You wouldn’t understand.” I annotate my favorite spicy scenes in the paperbacks. Technically, you could do that also in a Kindle, but they’re not visible until you open them. Not like a physical page where you can see both the printed part and the handwritten note on the side. When I tried to explain this to Isaac, his eyes glazed over.
“The amount you’ve spent on these books... We could’ve paid another month’s rent with the same money,” he mutters.
I scowl, maybe he’s right but I refuse to feel guilty. These books are my best friends. When I get upset with the world, when I’m pissed about anything, I can retreat between the pages and everything seems so much better.
I begin to roll my suitcase forward, but Isaac stops me.
“I shouldn’t have made that comment about the rent. I’m sorry.” He cups my cheek. “I really am.”
I blow out a breath. That’s the thing with Isaac. He can be a bitch, but then he also knows how to make up for it.
“Here, let me help you.” He takes the suitcase from me, and this time, I don’t stop him.
“I know how much you love to read. In fact, my father has a library full of books stacked floor to ceiling. I’m sure you’ll love it.”
“Assuming he lets me enter the room.” I glance around the space again. "Are you sure he wants us here?"
Isaac scrunches up his features, looking younger than his twenty-four years. "Only one way to find out."
JJ
"So, you want to move in here?" I narrow my gaze on my son. I’d led them into my study and taken the chair behind my large antique desk. And I hadn’t invited them to sit, either. Not that it had prevented Isaac from dropping into the chair opposite me.
His dirty blond hair flops over his forehead and he brushes it away. The gesture is so familiar. I’ve seen him do this when he gets excited, when he’s anxious, when he is nervous... And right now, he’s all three. Maybe unsure, more than anything else. He should be. He left home at twenty-one, vowing never to return. Three years later, he’s back and with a girlfriend in tow. The girl has the decency to remain standing, at least.
I rake my gaze over her features. Skin the color of honey, auburn hair pulled back from her temples, and big brown eyes that flash with irritation. Her waist is narrow enough I imagine I can span its length with my palms, and her hips… They flare out and are currently encased in jeans that she seems to have painted on. On her feet are faded Chucks with butterflies drawn on them. Butterflies? She’s young enough to believe in butterflies, and probably rainbows and first loves, as well. I suddenly feel old and jaded.
"Does your family know you’re here with him?" I snap.
She stiffens. "My family doesn’t have a say in how I live my life."
"Figures." I flick my gaze in my son’s direction. "You’re with him, after all."
My son arches an eyebrow, but before he can say anything, she bursts out, "He’s your son. How can you speak this way about him?"
"He’s my son. Which is why, if I were your father, I’d order you to stay away from him."
"You’re not my father," he spits out.
Thank fuck for that.I raise a shoulder. She’s right. It’s her life, and if she wants to waste it by being with him, who am I to say otherwise? I turn to Isaac. "You can stay for as long as you want, on one condition."
"If you mean you want me to come into your office and work with you—"
"That’s exactly what I mean."