Chapter 12 #2
“Your own secret language.” I infuse pride and excitement into my tone.
He needs to understand how great and smart that is, how amazing he is for being brave enough to do it.
“I thought it was shorthand. Do you know what that is?” He looks at me and shakes his head.
“Journalists use it, and so do I sometimes. It’s like a language all on its own.
It can take ages to write out full words, so people invented shortened symbols that mean the words.
Like yours, but you did it yourself. Good job.
A secret Drew Language.” I make sure my voice is full of praise. “Do you share it with your brothers?”
“A little, but not totally.” He looks intrigued about the shorthand, his head is up and his eyes are wide and bright. His shoulders have lowered and his posture is not as defensive or tight.
“I would get them fully clued up. My brothers and sister and I created a language when we were kids. But we use our hands.” I lift my palms up and waggle my fingers.
“We can have full conversations just by touching hands. We don’t need to speak to each other.
Comes in handy if we want to discuss something we don’t want people to hear.
We still use it now.” I tap at his board.
“I’m impressed.” Plucking the board out of his hands, I make a show of looking up and down the lines and rows. “Where’s the symbol for architect?”
He laughs out loud, taking the board back. “Still not on the list, Jude Greystone.”
“Cheeky little shit.” I wave him away. “Get lost, I’m getting up. Maybe I’ll get fed and not killed this morning.”
“Ollie didn’t mean to hurt you, not really.” He sounds contrite. “He just wanted you gone and not helping our dad.” He’s on the defensive now, trying to explain away their actions and reactions.
“I’m not helping him. I wouldn’t. I’ve never spoken to him,” I add, offering him a solid and serious look.
“But you want our building.” He’s stating facts, not asking questions.
“Yes, but your mum doesn’t want to sell, so…” I shrug. “Shoo. I need the loo.”
He shuffles out of the room, and I slip out of the comfy bed and into the bathroom. I’ve got boxers on, but that’s about it.
Upon exiting, I stop dead when I see another smaller Drew boy standing with a clipboard in the bedroom—Nathan, the youngest. “Not another inquisition,” I grumble goodnaturedly, but loud enough for him to hear me.
He ignores me. “Oh great, you’re alive, Jude Greystone. I can tick that off my list and tell Mum. She said to make sure you’re breathing. You are, aren't you?”
He’s peering at me. I blow out a huge breath of hot air directly towards him.
He grins and makes a big tick on the blank sheet of paper.
“Breakfast in ten minutes. I brought you a cup of tea. Carried it myself.” He looks proudly down at the tea cup and saucer that is swimming in tea.
Clearly spilled half the contents. “Then Mum is going to drive you home. Ollie is taking us to school. He drives a bit slow. Mum drives way faster. She thinks she’s Lewis Hamilton.
She’s been on four speed awareness courses, she keeps getting flashed by the speed police. ”
He turns and walks out. Is that door locked? I don’t think I can cope with a visit from the oldest Drew. I might end up punched, and my head still feels a bit fragile.
I look down at the half cup of tea. I love tea, can’t resist, so take a swig. Eww, cold. I need a shower.
I head back into the bathroom to get a quick shower, and am in and out in a flash.
I’m stood in a towel, picking up my clothes and inspecting them for dirt, when the door opens.
I throw back my head, roll my eyes and heave out a huge, dramatic sigh.
Is there no privacy in this house? Not another child, there were only three on that dossier, I’m sure. It’s like Clapham Junction in here.
“What now? Get lost. I’ve told you all the information I’m going to.”
I’m grinning as I spin around to see Emma Lincoln stood staring at me. Her eyes fixed on my torso. I don’t know whether to run my hands down my chest, or grab my shirt and cover myself up.
“Breakfast’s r-ready,” she squeaks out, her face a mixture of awe and fright.
What the hell is wrong with me? I’m not that scary, am I?
“Sorry, Emma. I thought you were one of the boys. Both the little two have been in harassing me. I’ve had a full blown interrogation this morning.
Think they’re striking whilst I’m still not with it.
” I smirk. “My release date has been set, though. Apparently you’re doing the handover for the ransom this morning. ”
She hasn’t said anything else, doesn’t even appear to try.
She looks rooted to the spot. There is no hiding my smirk.
Yeah baby, get a load of these abs. I’m fucking gorgeous, and work hard at it.
Her eyes start roving up and down my wet body.
They get to the towel tied low on my waist and shoot back to my face.
My smirk turns downright lascivious. I can see she’s taking it all in.
“It’s rude to stare.” My voice hits a bass tone, the rasp and roughness strike out at her. “Shall I add sexual harassment to attempted murder, kidnap, hostage taking, theft of property, blackmail, and ransom.”
She gasps and finally settles her eyes on my face. “I’m sorry, Jude. Breakfast…” She smiles sweetly, and now it’s my turn for my insides to melt, but other areas to harden. Fuck, she’ll see with this towel, at this rate.
I spin around and put my back to her. It’s all I can do.
“I’ll be out in a minute.” I growl. I know I sound grumpy now, but I keep my back to her until I hear her leave the room.
Fucking hell, she’ll think I’m being arsey now. But I can see how I affect her, and if she gets a load of seeing how she affects me… She looks terrified enough already. I’m definitely not the man for her. She’s waving the white flag of surrender before we’ve even gone anywhere.
But fuck I wanted to give it a go.
I blow out a breath of disappointment. Typical.
Everyone I’m not bothered about wants me.
Anyone I actually want either turns out to be a psycho—happened twice in the past—or a stalker.
My track record picking women is not great.
Which is why I stick to superficial casual relationships.
Transient and fluid. Not women with three kids, a home, and responsibilities. What a fucking disaster.