Nurturing Britney (Surrender Book 7) Becca Jameson (ebook reader for comics TXT) 📖

nod. “Yes. There are several messages on my phone. I didn’t read them. The thought of listening to his voice or seeing his words makes me cringe.”

“Do you mind if I look, sweetie?”

I nod and drop down onto the sofa, scrambling to tuck my skirt under me when I remember I’m not wearing jeans as my bare thighs hit the cool leather. “Go ahead.”

He touches my face first, looking me in the eye before he heads toward the kitchen counter where he plugged my phone in.

I love how often he touches me. Does he have any idea how he affects me or how I’m falling for him? He said he’s into me. Did he mean it? I’m not his type. I’m young and poor and uneducated. I’ve been scraping by as a stripper. Surely, he’s just being nice or he’d realize how absurd it would be to date me.

My chest tightens as I consider the fact that our entire foundation will happen alone in his home. Maybe if the situation were different and he took me outside of the house, he would be embarrassed. I would look ridiculous next to him. He’s more than twice my size. Built. He’s been in the military and has a grownup job. He’s established.

I’m no one. Just a pretty face. I haven’t lived life like he has. Not that I’m embarrassed about my job choice. It paid the bills. It was legitimate work. I did what I had to do to survive. I’ve never been on the streets. I’ve never been hungry and unable to afford at least something to eat. I consider myself resourceful and lucky in some respects.

I ease into the corner of the couch and pull my knees up, carefully covering them with my dress before setting my chin on them and rocking forward. My gaze is on a random spot across the room as I remind myself how fucked I am. Maybe I wasn’t destitute before now, but I’m in a heap of trouble. I’ve lost one job for sure and probably both. Cindy can only hold my spot for so long before she has to replace me.

What’s going to happen to my apartment if I don’t pay the rent? I don’t own much, but I bought everything in there over months with every dollar I earned. It would take me a long time to replace my belongings if I’m not able to retrieve them. What would I do with my stuff anyway? It’s not like I could afford a storage unit. I can’t even leave the house to pack it up.

I’m so fucked.

“Britney?”

I jerk my gaze to the side as Davis sits next to me. He sets a hand on my back. “You okay?”

I swallow. I’m not okay.

“What happened? You were smiling a moment ago. I turned around after reading your messages and found you staring into space looking like the bottom has fallen out of your world.” He smooths his hand up and down my back, my hair tangling in his fingers as usual.

I look back across the room.

“Talk to me, sweetie.”

I sigh. “I was just thinking about how f—, how screwed I am.”

He slides closer and pulls me against his side. It’s calming, but it won’t solve my problems. “You’re safe here. I promise.”

“I’m not worried about today or tomorrow. I’m worried about next week. I’m going to lose that apartment. I can’t afford to pay the rent. It’s not like I have savings. I’ll lose my furniture. I worked hard to acquire all that.”

He reaches for my chin and gently tips my head back in a manner I’m growing accustomed to. “I don’t want you to worry about your apartment. I’m not going to kick you out on the street. You’ll have a place to stay.”

“I can’t stay here forever, Davis. I’m mooching off you.”

“You’re not mooching. I want you here. Have I not made that clear?”

I sigh, my shoulders dropping. “Okay, but you’ll get tired of me soon, and I’ll need to move out. When this threat is over, I’ll need to get my shit back together.”

He lifts a brow and smirks.

I roll my eyes. I’ve cussed again. “Add it to the mysterious list,” I toss at him sarcastically.

He chuckles. “Okay, but that’s two infractions.”

“How do you figure?” I ask as I drop my knees and face him fully.

“The second one is for your sassy tone.” He wiggles his brows.

I gasp. “Not fair. You didn’t add sassiness to the list of rules,” I point out with every ounce of sass I can muster.

He shrugs. “Now I have, and now you’ve got two. What are we up to now? Seven?”

“Ugh.” I lean my head back and look at the ceiling. “Maybe you should keep a tally on the refrigerator with my chore chart,” I say, every bit as snarky as before.

“Oh, that’s a good idea.” He laughs. “I’ll do that.”

I lower my gaze to stare at him, wondering if he’s joking. I squeeze my thighs together too because for some reason his rules and lists make me horny. I’ve lost a few marbles.

Fifteen minutes later, I find out he was most definitely not kidding. He lifts me up to sit on one of the island stools while he makes lunch, and then pulls out two pieces of paper and a pen from the same drawer as earlier and hands them to me.

“What’s this for?”

“One is for your naughty tally. The other is for your chore chart.” He turns around and opens the refrigerator, leaving me to stare at his back. There was no humor in his voice. Just statements.

Fine. I can play this game. I shift my weight from one thigh to the other and then write “chore chart” at the top of one page and “naughty tally” on the top of the other. I give myself seven tally marks on the naughty list. I would list all the things that constitute naughtiness, but since I don’t know them all, and it would seem I’ll be