“When you’re ready for me to finish that,” I said. “You come to me.” She dug in her eyebrows, gaping. “My bed is on the third floor.” I rose up, grabbing my jacket. “Come and ask me for it.” And I left, the appendage between my legs trying to tear a hole in my pants as Micah’s laugh followed me up the stairs. Along with the shatter of whatever vase Emmy threw in the drawing room that crashed two seconds later. That was the hardest fucking thing I’d ever had to do. Like harder than prison, detox, and the Doris Day double feature at the drive-in my mother asked me to take her to when I was
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