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Yeah. Tabitha, sister of my new tenant, is hot, looks like she thinks I might have bodies buried in my basement, and has a mean handshake. Strangely, I’m into it.
But the most attractive thing about Tabitha Garrison might be the way she’s gazing back at Milo, like he’s one of the wonders of the world.
I think deep down I dread the thought of never seeing them again—adding them to the list of families I was never welcome to join.
I absently start a list of men I want to kill for looking at Tabitha like she’s their next meal. It’s irrational and out of character.
Rhys has always given off big dick energy. But I know now it’s not so much energy as big dick knowledge. Big dick surety? Big dick guarantee.
Over the past weeks, it’s become clear that the only person looking out for Tabitha is Tabitha. And fuck if it doesn’t make me want to look out for her too.
Rhys stops talking and lifts his head to peer down at the little boy. And it’s the way he smiles at him—the way his eyes soften—that makes my heart skip a beat. He doesn’t look at him in a way that people who like children look at any old kid that runs past. He looks at him with pure… adoration. With a tinge of pride. Rhys looks at Milo like he’s as good as his.
It’s with those images in my head that I promise myself to never let Rhys go hungry again.
“If that guy pets my cat, I’ll tie a knot in his scrawny arm to match the one in his neck.” I grin. “Did you just say your cat?”
I’ve spent a lifetime thinking I don’t like talking. It turns out I just needed the right person to talk to.
He’s wanted me and let me loathe him anyway. How fucking selfless. How fucking stupid.
“Did I say you could talk to my wife?”
Rhys Garrison.
