Dirty Daddies(34)

Chapter Eleven





Carrie



Posh guy isn’t so much of a dick as I thought he would be. I normally hate rich people – they look down their noses when I pass them on the street like they’re so much better than me. But being rich doesn’t give you a free pass out of Dumbville. Having money doesn’t make your shit smell any better than mine.

I thought I’d hate this guy, Jack, but I don’t. Even though he’s a negligent asshole with his fencing, and his temper is as hot as mine, he doesn’t seem like an absolute total douche.

I feel a weird sizzle when he’s close, and it’s not just because he’s a proper man – like Michael –but because he’s different to everyone else I’ve ever met. A different different to Michael.

Michael is strong and calm and considered. Michael looks at me as though I’m someone who could be somebody someday. He looks at me as though I’m more than my shitty reputation, like I have my own mind and my own brain and my own reasons for acting like I do.

Michael gives me hope I’ve never dared to have before – that there maybe someone out there strong enough to hold me tight and not let go. Who can see through all my shit and call it out for what it is – a stupid, shitty way of coping with being alone.

Jack, on the other hand, he seems like the guy who’ll see through all my shit and hold me firm, keep me right. Jack seems like the kind of guy to not take any shit at all.

His features are harder than Michael’s. His hair is cropped short and his jaw is solid. His eyes are dark and heavy and his nose is slightly Roman. He’s put together well for a guy who’s clearly greying. He’s got to be at least forty, too.

I guess they’ve been friends a long time, him and Michael. I’m good at reading people, because knowing people’s ways is in my blood, and it’s obvious these guys really give a shit about each other. The way people should give a shit about each other but rarely do.

Even though Jack has every right to be seriously pissed at both of us, he shakes his head and helps us out, cleaning up the crow shit and picking up the feathers from the sides.

I wonder why he came back early. I wonder why he didn’t call the cops and make a big fucking scene.

I’m really relieved I can stay. It makes me scared how relieved I am, because good things hurt so bad when they’re taken away, and I’m not sure I wanna go through that. I’m not sure I can stand losing Michael before he’s even been mine.

I’m not sure I’ll be able to stand losing this house, with its big airy windows and it’s lovely green fields. I’d find it so easy to fall in love with this place.

And to fall in love with being around these guys, too.

I feel safe as I work alongside them, even though they’re both pissed at me for different reasons. I’ve never had people pissed at me before who’ve knuckled down all the same and helped me sort my crap out.

They don’t have to help me clean up this mess, but they do.

Jack doesn’t have to give me a roof over my head for another few days, and I don’t know why he is, but I’m grateful. I’m grateful he cared enough to sweep up the glass and not call the cops on me. I’m grateful he cared enough not to make Michael pay for my stupid fuck up.

I work as hard as I can, because I’m not lazy and I want them to know it. I get carried away in the moment sometimes, and I don’t always think about the practical stuff, but I’m not a slacker.

I didn’t mean to trash Jack’s pretty house, it’s just that I cared about saving the crow more than I cared about his carpets.

I hope he knows that.

I hope Michael knows that too.

Michael fills up a tub of soapy water and attacks the white living room carpet with a scrubbing brush. He doesn’t stop scrubbing, not even as I drop to my knees alongside him and place my hand on his.

“I can do it,” I say, but he sighs and carries on. He flinches when I turn his face to mine, closing his eyes as my fingers brush the shadow of stubble on his jawline. I hate the way he shies away from me touching him. If he hadn’t then I’d have tried to kiss him again like I did last night.

“Let me do it,” I insist and he lets go of his grip on the brush.

“I should’ve called last night,” he tells me, staying put on his haunches as I continue what he started. I glance up at Jack as he heads past us into the hallway with a pan of more broken glass. I wait until I’m sure he’s out of earshot.

“You should’ve stayed last night,” I tell him. “You should’ve stayed with me. We both wanted it.”

“This needs to stop,” he says and my heart pains. When he’s serious he means it. He always means it. I both hate and love how he always means what he says.