Note: While authors are asked to place warnings on their stories for some moderated content, everyone has different thresholds, and it is your responsibility as a reader to avoid stories or stop reading if something bothers you.
The House Always Wins - 30. Chapter 30
CHAPTER 30
Hey,
I'm starting to think that us staying together like this, while Olivia isn't here, isn't helping matters. The lines, for me, are quickly become blurrier and blurrier, especially the last few days.
Michael's been here 24/7 and it's getting harder to not think it's all real. So I have an idea; tonight, when he's in the study, I'm going to move some of my crap to the guestroom and stay there for a few days, get some perspective again, until Olivia gets back. Because if this continues, I don't know how long it'll take me before I blurt out something stupid.
Like that I love him.
Shit... Where'd that come from?
**********
That evening, I waited until Michael disappeared into the study for a while. Then I went to the master bedroom, hauled an armful of clothes from the hangers, and went to the guest room, where I dumped it on the bed. I mumbled appropriate responses to anything he could say about it, rehearsing it as I went back and forth several times.
I was on the last trip, clearing some stuff out of the master bedroom's bathroom, when Michael appeared in the doorway, startling me.
"Hey... I didn't hear you," I said.
"Obviously."
"I moved my stuff to the guestroom," I said.
Maybe if I explained to him my reasons, if he'd listen, he'd see where I was coming from.
His eyes darkened and the muscles in his jaw contracted.
"Move them back."
"But..."
"Move. Them. Back. Now!"
His voice sounded snappy and I saluted, clicking my heels.
"Absofuckinglutely, sir! Anything else, Sir?" I said, as sarcastic as I could.
His eyes narrowed, sending me a silent warning. What the hell was the matter with him? I walked past him and went into the guestroom, gathering the clothes again.
Michael leaned against the doorframe, watching as I gathered an armful of shirts, his hands shoved in his pockets. He moved out of the way when I brought them over to the master bedroom. It took me three trips to get my stuff back; then I silently saluted again, before leaving the room.
His hand shot out, grabbing my arm.
"I'm sorry," he said.
I looked at the hand holding my arm and then up to his face.
"Then just let me to bring my stuff in here," I pleaded, turning toward him. "Please? I need to be alone for a while…I can’t do this for much longer, or I’ll…"
Maybe, if I asked nicely, calmly...or maybe if I...
I leaned closer to him and kissed his jaw and cheek and then his lips.
"Please..."
He answered the kiss, coming forward when I pulled back, holding it for a while longer. Then he shook his head slowly, smiling sadly.
"That was a very nice try, but I still won't let you move your stuff in here. You belong there," nodding to the room across the hallway, "not here. You'll move them back. Now."
He let go, and shoved his hand back into his pocket. He remained there until I began to return the items, only satisfied once I was done; then turned away, leaving me alone.
**********
Aaargh! God he was stubborn. Why was he so adamant about this? Olivia wasn't here; there was no one to see if I slept there, other than the maid, who was in on all of it. I didn't understand! Shit! I needed a drink. A big one.
**********
I was in luck; there was a new bartender in the bar downstairs and he didn't give me any grief, he didn't even ask me for my ID. Sometimes it’s a blessing if you look older than you really are. So I sat down and ordered a Southern Comfort, the one alcoholic drink that I do enjoy once in a while. I decided to make it a double; what the heck.
This time, I wasn't interested in any of the guests in here, I just wanted to sit here, drink a few, and forget all about the last few weeks. And not think any further then when the next refill would occur.
I had about five when I hit a snag; the bartender suddenly grew a conscience.
"Sir... I don't think that's such a good idea..." he said, when I asked what the problem was. So? I had good reason to get off my tits on booze. That was not his concern.
"Oh come on..."
"Umm... big brother is watching."
I didn't immediately understand that, but when I followed his gaze, I saw the reason standing in the doorway. ‘Big Brother’ himself.
- 18
- 4
- 7
- 1
Note: While authors are asked to place warnings on their stories for some moderated content, everyone has different thresholds, and it is your responsibility as a reader to avoid stories or stop reading if something bothers you.
Recommended Comments
Chapter Comments
-
Newsletter
Sign Up and get an occasional Newsletter. Fill out your profile with favorite genres and say yes to genre news to get the monthly update for your favorite genres.