The Ahern Brothers Collection - Claudia Burgoa Page 0,62
licks her lips, looking at me.
I’m turned on by the simple gesture. Dirty thoughts about her body, melted chocolate, and my tongue make my blood boil. My dick pulses, growing harder. I’m so fucking horny, I want to drag her to the car and fuck her right in the back seat.
Her eyes light up as the waiter leaves. “Everything okay, Wes?”
“Of course,” I say, composing myself. “You were talking about your ideal job.”
“Ideal is so cliché. I mean, as a CPA I can work almost anywhere. We could be handling our business over the phone,” she says in a sultry voice.
I pull the collar of my shirt, gasping for air. What is wrong with me tonight?
“So far, the only real job I’ve held is working for your charity, which I love. I think you should create a fully functioning non-profit instead of just calling it a grant. If you want me to, I can take the whole operation over. I love it because I get to stalk people online and give them money afterward. How cool is that?”
She chuckles, winking at me. Abby takes her glass of wine and drinks it all. I refill it as she continues telling me about the charities she’s helped so far and the applications she’s working on. She’s pumped up about the prospect of going through all the requests for funds we’ve received in the past six months and if possible, authorizing all of them.
“You love it,” I conclude enjoying the sparkle in her eyes.
“It’s interesting and fulfilling.” She nods, though her face turns a little serious. “Honestly, if I could, I’d create a nonprofit to help in other ways instead of just giving money to several places once a year. Something meaningful …”
Her shoulders slump, and she stares at the glass of wine she’s holding tightly. The waiter sets down the strawberries and chocolate and fills up our glasses with more wine. I should be concerned that Abby drinks it like water and pours some more. She’s lost inside that mind of hers. Whatever I said has those wheels turning fast.
“For runaway teenagers,” she says after a long pause. “A safe house for teenagers. For those who aren’t safe at home,” she expands. “If a kid has a place to go, they wouldn’t have to wait until they’re old enough to leave their homes or run away.”
“Sounds like you know someone like that.”
“Yeah, you could say that.” It feels like she’s shutting me out. A big steel walls crashes down between us.
“Another bottle of Zinfandel, sir?”
“No, thank you. Can you bring me a Macallan, neat?” I order.
“I’ll have more wine,” Abby requests.
“I wish they had daiquiris,” she says, dipping a strawberry in the chocolate. “After my grandmother died, living with my mother was different. She was moody. When she was unhappy, she’d take it out me.”
It feels like an elusive butterfly just flew nearby. I stay still to make sure I can watch it for as long as possible before it flies away. Abby tells me about the nights when her mother would arrive home angrily and turn the air-conditioning high, trying to freeze her, and wouldn’t let her go into her bedroom. The days when she wouldn’t feed her. My hands curl. I’m fucking furious as I listen to her. I shake with rage as I learn that the woman who was responsible for her well-being mistreated her for years.
“One day, she tied me to a chair she’d placed under the shower,” she continues. Although her body is here with me, her voice sounds lost, much like her gaze. “She turned on the cold water and let it run. It was just for a few minutes, but I stayed tied there for hours, shivering and afraid. It felt like my mind detached from my body, and I counted for a long time remembering how Grandma and I used to count together. When I was much younger, my grandmother would put me in the bathtub, and we’d count my toys.”
Once again, I find out why counting under the water is like therapy for her. Or is it just a way to deflect from her problems?
She chuckles humorlessly. “If I’d had another place to go, I would’ve left my mother. Maybe I wouldn’t be so fucked up.”
Abby remains seated, but it feels like she’s putting a world of separation between us.
“What happened to you before you came to the Aherns, Wes?”
Her question catches me off-guard. I lean back, my jaw tightens, and my teeth