Page 87 of Forgotten Prejudice

Brushing my teeth, I moved a hand over the mirror to clean it from the steam. I always showered in boiling water, which turned the room into a sauna. Looking at my reflection, I noticed the stubble coating my face. Without stopping to think, I reached for my electric shaver when it occurred to me. Why did I even need to bother? I’d never cared about body hair and only ever shaved or waxed because of Soren, who loved my body smooth.

But Soren isn’t here anymore.

Opening the drawer under the sink, I tossed the shaver in and slammed it shut. It wasn’t like I would suddenly grow a full beard, but a bit of body hair never killed anyone. Ready to leave the bathroom, I glanced back at the drawer with pursed lips. Maybe I should shave, after all?

Kai

“I’m not making you a frittata,” I grunted at Paris after putting a plate of eggs and bacon in front of him.

“But I want a frittata!” the little bastard bit back while pushing the plate away.

Angry, I placed a flat hand on the table and pointed at him. “Listen to me, you little—”

“What’s the matter?” Aiden joined us in the kitchen right as my annoyingly spoiled seven-year-old poked his tongue at me. I loved my kid to death, but cooking him food was becoming one hell of a hustle with his weird cravings.

“Nothing,” I hissed, narrowing my eyes at Paris, who gave me the same look in return. “My kid here thinks he’s getting a frittata for breakfast.” I rubbed a hand over my scruff. “How the fuck do you even know what a frittata is?”

Paris giggled, pointing his finger at me. “A dollar in the curse jar, Dad.”

The little devil.

“Answer the question, brat.”

“I saw it on TV.”

I huffed. “And how do you know it’s even tasty?”

Paris shrugged and then picked a beautiful strip of crispy bacon from his plate. “It looked tasty.” He took a bite. “And Mom said you can cook me anything.”

Of course it was Zoe’s idea. That woman thought I had all the time in the world to cook a child fucking frittatas.

“Fine, we’ll make frittatas for lunch. Happy?”

Paris answered me with a big smile before he finally began eating. With a sigh, I half turned to look at Aiden, who seemed amused by the situation.

“So what are your plans for the day?” he asked, and Paris yelled, “Surfing,” before I could utter a word.

“What he said.” Turning from them, I walked over to the sink and began doing the dishes.

My first idea was offering Ash to join us and maybe have another zoo date or some shit, but after screwing things up with him, it was no longer an option. Just remembering what an idiot I was boiled my blood. On the same day Aiden had warned me to take things slow and to think before acting, I did the exact opposite.

Why did I have to jerk him off? Why couldn’t I bite my tongue and keep my greedy hands to myself? Because the second you knew he was thinking about him, you couldn’t take it. True. Whenever Ash wore that sad expression on his face, one that told me he was thinking about him, I couldn’t hold back from doing something. My body tensed and ached to shake him out of those thoughts. It physically hurt me to know he was sulking, thinking about that piece of shit. It also pissed me off, knowing he was constantly thinking of a different man while being with me.

“Fuck,” I cursed as I dropped the glass I was washing, and it broke. Ignoring Paris’s shout about another dollar in his “curse jar,” I began picking up glass from the sink. A sharp pain pierced me, and I hissed under my breath as blood began dripping from a cut on my index finger. Great, fucking great.

Immediately turning off the tap, I grabbed a paper towel and wrapped it around my finger. But seeing how blood already soaked through it, I knew it was deeper than a slight cut.

“What’s wrong?” Aiden asked, trying to reach for my hand.

I didn’t even realize I had pushed away from him until our eyes met, and I felt awkward. Shit.

“Keep an eye on Paris for a second, ’kay? I’ll go upstairs to bandage it.”

Blood began dripping onto the floor, so I quickly went to the second-floor bathroom, remembering I had the first aid kit stored there. The first door in the hall belonged to Ash’s room. It had been locked since my fuckup on the beach. Thinking about how much I missed cuddling him each night formed a knot in my stomach, and with that, I pushed the bathroom door open.

A blast of steam hit my face the second I opened the door, and I rubbed my eyes before I got a clear, vivid image of Ash shaving while leaning over the sink with a towel knotted dangerously low around his narrowed hips. Help me, Jesus. It was a perfect replication of some gay porn I liked, where one guy walks in on his roommate in the middle of a shave. Things got heated up, and in the next scene, he was boning his friend over the bathroom sink.

If only that were the case now.