Page 11 of Resisting His Charm
“There a reason you’re cooking breakfast?” he asks with a raised brow.
“It’s for Imogen,” I tell him. “She up yet?”
“Why are you cooking your sister breakfast?”
“Because you only gave me one sibling, so I need to make sure she stays fit and healthy. She’s all I got in this world and it all starts with breakfast,” I explain.
“Morning.” My mom walks up and hugs me. “I didn’t know you were coming home today. I would have cooked for you.”
“I wanted to make Imogen breakfast.”
“So there’s nothing for me?” Dad asks.
“Nope.” I shake my head.
“Lailani, tell me how we raised such heathens?” Dad turns to Mom.
“He’s cooking for his little sister, such a heathen.” She rolls her eyes before switching her attention to me. “What’d you get up to last night?”
“I was at the Wild Card,” I tell her.
“I know,” she says. “Want to share why you booked two high-roller rooms for two girls who most certainly were not high-rollers?” Mom quirks a curious brow.
“You really want to know what I needed one of those rooms for, Ma?” I tilt my head to the side, and my dad laughs.
“I wish I hadn’t asked.” Mom screws up her face. “But two? Seriously, Sammie J, I taught you to respect women. You don’t mess around with two of them on the same night.”
“Ma, I didn’t fuck both of them,” I tell her.
“Lailani, leave him alone. He’s young. It’s what young people do,” Dad comes to my defense.
“Really, you know who else is young, Sammie? Imogen,” Mom counters.
“No, she’s not. She’s my baby girl. She’s never going to be a whore like this one.” Dad points to me.
“I’m not a whore,” I deny, and my parents shake their heads at me.
I don’t think there is any subject my parents aren’t comfortable talking to me and Imogen about. It’s alwaysbeen like this, open and nonjudgemental for the most part. Thankfully, my sister chooses that moment to walk in.
“Hey, did I miss the family meeting memo?” Imogen asks.
“Sit. Eat.” I place a plate on the counter. “You want coffee? Juice?”
“Um, coffee, please,” she says, eyeing the plate. “I’m really not hungry.”
“Neither one of us is leaving this kitchen until that plate’s empty, Imogen. Now, eat,” I tell her.
“What the fuck is going on here?” Dad points between the two of us.
I don’t say a word, just silently dare Imogen not to eat the fucking food.
She huffs before picking up her fork. “Nothing,” she grumbles.
“Someone want to tell me what’s going on?” Mom asks next.
“Can’t a brother just cook his sister breakfast without an inquisition?” I grunt. Then look to my dad. “Oh, I need to borrow the jet tomorrow.”
“Where are you going?” he asks.
