Reading Online Novel

Filfthy(4)



Clearing my throat and pulling myself together, I lift my shoulders back and rest my hands on my hips. Maybe I should be girding my loins too.

“I’m Zane,” he says, with a curious smirk that showcases a deep dimple in his right cheek. “You wanted me?”

My mind is hurried with thoughts that never find my lips, and I struggle to form a legible sentence in the company of a man who looks like . . . this.

His jaw goes for days, intersecting at the cleft in his chin, and his full lips are pulled up at the corners as his maple-honey eyes are locked on mine. Zane hooks a hand on his hip and rests the other casually on the edge of the kitchen island, his brows lifting as he waits for me to speak.

Forcing my own composure, I take a moment, inhale, and remind myself that sugar goes a hell of a lot further than vinegar.

“You normally stop by other people’s private parties and start cleaning up their kitchen?” He masks a laugh. “Or did you escape from somewhere? Should I be calling the authorities? Is anyone looking for you?”

Screw sugar.

He’s getting a mouthful of vinegar.

My jaw slacks, and I feel my word venom collecting and rising, burning my throat on the way up.

“Relax, gorgeous.” His hand cups my shoulder, engulfing it, really. The man has some big . . . hands. And he called me gorgeous. Though lucky for me, I’m smart enough to know he probably doesn’t mean it, and I sure as hell won’t let that weaken my resolve. “I’m teasing. But really, you don’t need to clean my kitchen. I pay people to do that.”

His messy dark hair is tugged and pulled into a work of art on top of his head, playing off his bronze skin, innately sensual gaze, and white smile. The hint of a tattoo peeks out from beneath his collar, and drawings in black cover his muscled, veiny forearms.

“I just came by to ask you to keep the noise down.” I fold my arms, taking a step back. “I’m next door trying to sleep, and it’s kind of hard with all this noise. Would you mind asking your guests to come inside?”

We both glance outside, where a group of guys are hitting a beach ball over the pool volleyball net with bikini-clad girls on their shoulders. The sound of their laughter carries into the kitchen, floating on a breeze of pumping house music.

“You Rue’s niece?” he asks.

“Great niece. Yes.”

“Ah.” His stare washes over me, head to toe, dripping slow. His shoulders rise and fall as his eyes narrow. “Delilah, right?”

My fingertips reach toward my collarbone, instinctively looking to toy with a necklace that isn’t there.

“How’d you know my name?” I ask.

“Rue told me,” he says, brows lifted, as if the answer should be obvious.

I roll my eyes, trying not to laugh at the kinds of things I can imagine coming from that seventy-five-year-old woman’s filter-free lips.

“But she didn’t tell me why you’re here.” His full lips jut as he slides his hands in his pockets. “Just told me to stay the hell away from you.”

That sounds exactly like Rue.

“She told me no niece of hers would be caught dead associating with a filthy football player,” he adds, though the twinkle in his warm eyes tell me he’s more amused than offended.

“Have to hand it to Rue, she doesn’t mince words.” My strong front is dissolving at warp speed. I need to get back on track. Injecting my voice with as much professionalism as I can muster at this ungodly hour, I add, “Anyway, if you could maybe just steer the party inside, I’d appreciate it.”

He stands, staring with this intense expression on his ridiculously handsome face, making this moment more awkward than it needs to be.

“Ok…ay.” I nod and eye the doorway. Luckily the masses have relocated, and I can see the front door from here. I take a step, and another, eyes fixed on the door knob. I can almost feel the cool metal in my palm.

“Wait.”

I turn to see Zane following me, and I stop to face him when I reach the foyer.

“I’m not going to ask them to come inside,” he says.

“Excuse me?” I tilt my head, confused.

“I’m not going to ask them to come inside,” he states with even more conviction than the first time.

“Why not?”

“Because you’re too young to be the fucking Fun Police,” he says. “And I’d be doing you a disservice if I immediately obeyed you, because then you might actually start believing you’re the center of the universe.”

I see red for a moment, gulping in air and composing my thoughts. “I do not think I’m the center of the universe, and I certainly don’t think it’s too much to ask for a little bit of human decency. You live in a neighborhood. With neighbors. It’s the middle of the week and people are sleeping. You can’t just turn your backyard into a brothel-slash-club and then get offended when someone politely asks you to take it down a notch.”