Page 30 of The Burdens We Share (Satan’s Angels #3)

Dallas

We came back to Ivory’s so that she could apologize to her mother and also say goodbye before we head back to LA. I left the two women alone and ventured into the house only to find Sam doing homework at the kitchen table. He looks up at me over his shoulder as I enter the room, “Hey,” he greets.

I immediately remember the verbal lashing I gave the kid and I almost feel bad, but I don’t really because he needed to hear it.

And look what came out of it? He’s hard at work on his homework and Tara hasn’t called Ivory with some new bad news to share about the kid’s actions.

“Hey, kid.” I walk closer to where Sam sits and look over his shoulder at his open textbook and notes.

It seems he has a lot of scribbles and eraser marks as if he’s been trying at the same problem for some time, but hasn’t quite been able to get it right. “What are you working on?”

Sam sighs, “Algebra.”

Computers, numbers, and code are three of my favorite things. The first of course, is the small brunette with the pink hair. I take a quick look at the problem Sam seems to be stuck on and nod as I have the solution in only a few seconds. “Want some help?”

He gives me a surprised look as if the concept of an adult knowing math surprises him. I guess it would considering Ivory’s strong suits lie in modeling, acting, and playing guitar and Tara’s are well…not math. “Please,” he asks.

I take a seat next to him at the table and start to help him work through the problem.

I make sure not to give him the answer because I want him to be able to figure it out on his own.

It doesn’t take much help from me, and in a few minutes, he has the function solved and graphed correctly.

“That was a lot easier now that you explained it.”

I nod at him, “Try the next one.”

Sam attempts the next problem and follows the exact steps I provided him with. He solves the problem in a few minutes and I nod my approval. “Nice.”

“Thanks for the help,” he says genuinely.

“You’re welcome.”

Sam smirks, “You know I always thought my sister was gonna end up with some dumb actor or singer that couldn’t even read, but I’m pleasantly surprised.”

I have to stifle a laugh with a cough, “You should give her more credit than that.” I have to remind myself I’m the fake boyfriend and not the real one. However one day, I fully intend on being the real one.

“Give who more credit for what?” Ivory’s silvery voice asks as she enters the room with Tara at her side. She looks relaxed and I take that as a sign that their little talk went well. Tara also doesn’t appear to be devastated or dramatically crying, though that could be in part due to her Botox.

I grin at my little devil as Sam answers, “Nobody and nothing.” He changes the subject, “Ivory, your boyfriend is a fucking genius.”

“Watch your language in front of your mother and sister,” I whisper to him under my breath.

Sam sighs, “Sorry. Omit the f-bomb from the sentence.”

Ivory grins as she walks over to the table and looks past my arm at Sam’s homework. Her eyebrows rise in surprise, “Are you helping him with homework?”

I look at Sam as I answer, “I offered guidance, but he’s a smart kid. He figured it out on his own.”

Sam suddenly looks at me like I hung the moon and stars. I guess he’s not used to people complimenting him or having faith in him. I’d have to talk to Ivory about that. I’m sure a little bit of praise could keep Sam on the right path.

Ivory’s eyes glitter and for the first time in a long time, when she smiles it actually reaches her eyes. I want to take a picture of it, that’s how perfect it is. Before I can catch an idea of what she’s doing, she leans down and presses a kiss to my cheek, and whispers in my ear, “Thank you.”

I don’t know why such an innocent move has my cock stirring in my slacks, but it does. Badly.

Tara smiles at us as she starts opening cabinets to get some bowls out to most likely start cooking dinner. When she opens one particular cabinet, it falls off the hinge and makes a loud crashing sound. “You okay?” I ask her as I start to get up from my seat.

She nods, “Yes, thank you. I have to call someone to fix this.”

I shake my head, “I can fix it for you.”

Her eyes light up, “Really?”

“Of course. Do you have a drill?”

Tara leads me over to the garage where Ivory’s father’s tools are and I grab what I need before I fix the cabinet.

Tara drowns me in conversation and I don’t even know how much time passes before the cabinet is fixed, Ivory is nowhere to be seen, and Sam has finished his entire homework assignment.

“Do you know where Ivory went?” I ask Tara, changing the subject to something I actually care about instead of her favorite cabinet finishes and countertop styles.

Tara really is a nice woman and she means well, but damn can the woman talk.

I also think she might secretly be in love with me.

She looks surprised for a second as if she forgot Ivory was even here before she guesses, “Probably in her old bedroom.”

“I’m gonna go find her. We have to head to the airport soon,” I excuse myself as I slowly retreat from the room in search of some reprieve from Tara in the form of a particular pink-loving rockstar.

I ascend the stairs and hear faint guitar playing from the room to the left, across from her mother’s.

I know right away that she’s inside and I slowly twist the knob and open the door, not wanting to disturb her.

I peek inside and find her seated on her very pink childhood bed, with a, you guessed it, pink guitar on her lap as she plays a slow and soothing tune.

I take a moment to absorb her childhood room.

This is all a part of her that my research could never give me.

It’s a direct look into her life, her past, and I want all of it.

I take in the white walls, the pink bed with pink pillows, the white shaggy rug on the mahogany floors, the big white vanity riddled with old perfumes and makeup products, and of course, numerous pictures of her throughout the years.

I fully step inside and she freezes, the tune cutting off. “Keep playing,” I encourage her.

She gives me a small smile before she continues playing and I close the door behind me, absorbing the beautiful sound she’s creating.

I’m not an avid music listener, but if Ivory is playing it, whatever it is, it becomes my favorite song.

Part of it stems from her raw talent and the other from it being her creating it.

I listen to her tune as I walk around the room and look at all the photos.

I first find a picture of Ivory with Sam on the beach.

I trace her youthful face with my pointer finger as I smile at her small smile.

She couldn’t have been older than eight or nine.

She’s absolutely drop-dead gorgeous now, but she made quite a cute kid with her big front teeth and pigtails.

The next picture I find must be from when she was in high school because it’s her in a cheerleading outfit with some teammates.

The next is a picture of her and her father and in this one, she’s sitting on his lap as a baby watching him play guitar, drool dripping from the corner of her little mouth.

Her song stops, “That was his favorite picture of us. I have it in my room in LA too.”

I turn to face her, “It’s a nice photo. I can see why it’s his favorite.” In the photo, he was looking at Ivory like she was the best thing to ever happen to him. You can feel the move the man had for his daughter through the framed glass.

She gives me a sad smile, “Thank you.”

I walk over to her and seat myself beside her on the bed. She starts strumming the strings of her guitar again and I ask, “What song is this?”

She explains as she plays, “It was a song my dad used to play me when I was a kid. It was the first song I learned to play on the guitar.”

Ivory plays the entire tune and I’m enamored by her the entire time. When the last note fades out, she places the guitar down on the floor and turns to face me, “Thank you for everything, Dallas.”

I tilt my head at her, “You don’t have to thank me.”

She scoffs, “Of course I do. You helped my brother with homework that neither myself or my mom would be able to help him with and then you fixed cabinets for my mom. It means a lot to me that you were willing to help them. You didn’t have to do any of that.”

I give her a look as if the reasoning behind my actions should already be obvious, “I did it all for you because they’re important to you which makes them important to me.”

She stares at me suddenly like she can’t see the darkness inside me.

She looks at me the way I’d imagine she would’ve looked at the old Dallas.

Her eyes sparkle and in this moment I would do anything to thread my fingers through her hair, to press my lips against hers, to explore every inch of her body, to worship her.

Before I can convince myself otherwise, I lean forward and press my lips against hers, cupping her jaw the way I’ve grown so used to.

She kisses me back instantly and melts into me.

I reach for her thigh and swing her leg around mine so that she’s straddling me, never breaking our kiss.

She lets out a small moan and wraps her arms around my neck.

I hold her small waist and let an exploring hand wander down to her ass.

She rocks her hips and grinds down on my stiffening length and I only kiss her harder.

Our tongues work in tandem with one another and I realize this kiss is so unlike our first kiss. That kiss was desperate and hungry where this one is more passionate and is forged from a genuine connection we have.