Read Online Midwest Fighter (Kendall Family Book 2) by Jennifer Ann - Free Book Online
Authors: Jennifer Ann
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in my own world that I didn’t once stop to think about the sweet girl I was using for my warped pleasure.
I grab a few tissues off the sink-top and clean myself before getting dressed. The sight of the clothes I wore to Dad’s funeral, rumpled in a pile on the floor has the effect of a hard blow to the stomach. I’ve managed to make the shittiest day of my life even worse, something I won’t ever be able to forget.
As I’m throwing my coat on, Sharlo comes out of the bathroom with a towel wrapped around her damp body, dry hair secured behind her head.
“I’m sorry,” I blurt. “I wasn’t thinking.”
A forced smile surfaces when she catches my weary glance. “Don’t be so hard on yourself. Clearly neither of us were thinking properly.”
“But it’s my responsibility. And it still will be my responsibility if you get pregnant. I wouldn’t let you raise the kid on your own.”
“Don’t be ridiculous. This was nothing more than a good time. And it’s not a viable option to co-parent with someone who lives light-years beyond the subway route.”
Until this moment, it never occurred to me how much I want children. I figured I’d have a family eventually if I ever found the right woman and didn’t put much thought into it otherwise. The idea of her denying me the right to my kid, even if this was a fling, creates a tight band across my chest.
“We’d figure something out,” I say.
“It’s too soon for this sort of conversation, yeah? The little nugget would hardly be a living thing this early on.” She tightens the towel under her arms and pulls her shoulders back. “Please, give me a moment of privacy while I hide any evidence of what just transpired. Your sister’s a clever one and will have questions. If it’s all the same to you, I’ve had enough drilling for one day.”
A small swell of anger surges inside my gut as I cross my arms, unwilling to sweep the subject under the rug. But she moves over to open the door, tapping her bare foot against the thin carpet, leaving no room for any more argument.
“Off you go, then. I’ll be down before long.”
I close the distance between us, unable to stop myself from caressing the smooth skin on her cheeks. Though her jaw remains hard, her eyes close and she leans into my touch. She’s far from being someone fragile in need of protection, but the constant defender in me screams that I need to take care of her all the same. And I managed to fuck that up by acting like a selfish bonehead.
When I bend down, her lips part with a silent sigh before meeting mine for a slow, meaningful kiss. My cock hardens when she reaches up to twist her fingers in my hair and pushes her soft body against mine. There’s nothing I’d like more than to make gentle love to her all night, but I’ve already done enough damage and she made it sound like what we did was meaningless to her, so I pull away. Her eyes are still closed when I mutter, “I’ll be waiting in the truck.”
* * *
A s the subdued bar attempts to celebrate Dad’s life with his favorite Johnny Cash tunes blasting from the jukebox, Sharlo carries on like nothing happened between us, capturing the attention of every dick within swinging distance just by being her cheerful self. Though I’d like to knock every single one of the pricks on their ass for even giving her the time of day, I sulk behind a pitcher of beer instead, watching her from a bar stool. When the second one is gone, I tap it against the bar top.
Patsy, the bar’s long-time manager, appears with her hands on her hips. I’m grateful to see her eyes narrowed skeptically. It beats the dopey, sympathy-filled looks I’ve been getting all day. “I know you’re hurtin', hun, but it’s been a long time since I’ve seen you drink this much. Are you sure you don't want to take it easy?”
Someone claps me on the back so hard that I almost reel around to take a swing at them.
“Six shots of Jose, Pats!” Asher hollers at her,
I grab a few tissues off the sink-top and clean myself before getting dressed. The sight of the clothes I wore to Dad’s funeral, rumpled in a pile on the floor has the effect of a hard blow to the stomach. I’ve managed to make the shittiest day of my life even worse, something I won’t ever be able to forget.
As I’m throwing my coat on, Sharlo comes out of the bathroom with a towel wrapped around her damp body, dry hair secured behind her head.
“I’m sorry,” I blurt. “I wasn’t thinking.”
A forced smile surfaces when she catches my weary glance. “Don’t be so hard on yourself. Clearly neither of us were thinking properly.”
“But it’s my responsibility. And it still will be my responsibility if you get pregnant. I wouldn’t let you raise the kid on your own.”
“Don’t be ridiculous. This was nothing more than a good time. And it’s not a viable option to co-parent with someone who lives light-years beyond the subway route.”
Until this moment, it never occurred to me how much I want children. I figured I’d have a family eventually if I ever found the right woman and didn’t put much thought into it otherwise. The idea of her denying me the right to my kid, even if this was a fling, creates a tight band across my chest.
“We’d figure something out,” I say.
“It’s too soon for this sort of conversation, yeah? The little nugget would hardly be a living thing this early on.” She tightens the towel under her arms and pulls her shoulders back. “Please, give me a moment of privacy while I hide any evidence of what just transpired. Your sister’s a clever one and will have questions. If it’s all the same to you, I’ve had enough drilling for one day.”
A small swell of anger surges inside my gut as I cross my arms, unwilling to sweep the subject under the rug. But she moves over to open the door, tapping her bare foot against the thin carpet, leaving no room for any more argument.
“Off you go, then. I’ll be down before long.”
I close the distance between us, unable to stop myself from caressing the smooth skin on her cheeks. Though her jaw remains hard, her eyes close and she leans into my touch. She’s far from being someone fragile in need of protection, but the constant defender in me screams that I need to take care of her all the same. And I managed to fuck that up by acting like a selfish bonehead.
When I bend down, her lips part with a silent sigh before meeting mine for a slow, meaningful kiss. My cock hardens when she reaches up to twist her fingers in my hair and pushes her soft body against mine. There’s nothing I’d like more than to make gentle love to her all night, but I’ve already done enough damage and she made it sound like what we did was meaningless to her, so I pull away. Her eyes are still closed when I mutter, “I’ll be waiting in the truck.”
* * *
A s the subdued bar attempts to celebrate Dad’s life with his favorite Johnny Cash tunes blasting from the jukebox, Sharlo carries on like nothing happened between us, capturing the attention of every dick within swinging distance just by being her cheerful self. Though I’d like to knock every single one of the pricks on their ass for even giving her the time of day, I sulk behind a pitcher of beer instead, watching her from a bar stool. When the second one is gone, I tap it against the bar top.
Patsy, the bar’s long-time manager, appears with her hands on her hips. I’m grateful to see her eyes narrowed skeptically. It beats the dopey, sympathy-filled looks I’ve been getting all day. “I know you’re hurtin', hun, but it’s been a long time since I’ve seen you drink this much. Are you sure you don't want to take it easy?”
Someone claps me on the back so hard that I almost reel around to take a swing at them.
“Six shots of Jose, Pats!” Asher hollers at her,
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