Rosa
Tiernan curls his hands into fists only to unclench them open a second later. I’ve been transfixed by the nervous tick for most of our car ride to Back Bay. To say I was surprised when he came home early tonight and told me to pack up my things because we were checking out would be the understatement of the year. I was starting to believe that The Liberty Hotel was going to be my permanent home throughout my entire stay in Boston. It was only when I began to pack my things into my suitcase that I remembered that Boston is my home now. Not just a place I am visiting.
But I guess today has been a day full of surprises.
I wasn’t expecting Colin Kelly to show up on my doorstep either this morning. Much less spend the day with him at the Boston Museum of Fine Arts. All in all, this was probably the best day I’ve had since I left home. Alejandro had made it a point to warn me off Colin, almost hinting at the fact he was far more dangerous than my husband and brother-in-law, Shay, combined. But after spending a full day in his company, I don’t see it. Colin was intellectually precise in his musings, even if he couldn’t appropriately articulate with them. He was thoughtful, kind, and at times even made me laugh with his spot-on commentary. For the first time in God knows how long, I forgot the treaty, my homesickness, and for that matter, even my husband.
I’m just worried that Tiernan might spoil my budding new friendship with his cousin somehow. That he’ll see this small speck of happiness inside me and decide to crush it with his bare hands before I get used to the feeling. It’s not like he’s given me any proof to the contrary, that he wants me to be happy. In fact, Tiernan Kelly has gone to great lengths to ensure that I’m not.
My first week being married to him has been less than pleasant. Since our wedding night, he has barely said two words to me. Coming home at all hours of the night, smelling like whiskey, cigarettes, and cheap perfume. I think I even saw glitter on the lapel of his collared shirt once, evidence that he was at some strip club before he decided to come back to the hotel suite.
Not that I would demand justifications to his face. In fact, I made sure to always be in bed when he came home. I would fake being asleep and watch him from under my eyelashes, going into the bathroom to take his usual nightly shower before he retreated into the living room to sleep on the couch.
One thing I’ve learned about my husband is that the man is a creature of habit. He likes things to remain a certain way, in their proper spot, and to deviate from that just sets his teeth on edge.
Hence my surprise when he told me he was taking me to his home in Back Bay. I’m positive that his abrupt decision to take me home is the reason why he can’t stop balling his fists every five seconds.
It’s the lights from the SUV trailing behind us with our security detail that grab my attention away from Tiernan’s nervous tic and onto the man himself.
“Will I need so many bodyguards if I’m living at your place?”
“Why?” he retorts, using that same cold tone of his that I’ve begun to detest.
“I would think Colin would suffice. I don’t see the need of having four men guard me when one can do the job.”
If I expected him to explain why he sent Colin to be my personal bodyguard this morning, then I’m bitterly disappointed when he refuses to answer me.
“I doubt anyone would dare ambush me in the great Tiernan Kelly’s private home,” I try again, hoping my hit to his ego will incite a reaction from him.
“Are you saying that when you lived in Mexico, your father didn’t have guards with machine guns guarding his property?” he says, acknowledging my presence for the first time since we got into his town car.
“He did.”
“Then why should I be lenient when guarding mine?” He cocks a brow.
I bite back my tongue at the gleam of loathing in his distractingly beautiful eyes.
Property.
That is what I am to him.
Just another prized possession to do with as he wishes.
Resentment in his choice of words has me turning my attention to the passenger window and pretending he’s not even in the same car with me.
“Tomorrow we are having lunch at my parents’ home. I expect you to be ready at noon for us to leave,” he decides to break the deafening silence between us after a few minutes.
“Tomorrow?” I ask, snapping my head his way.
“Yes.”
“But tomorrow is Sunday.”
“I’m well aware what day it is. What of it?”
“I’m used to going to church on Sundays,” I protest, making him turn slightly towards me, staring at me like I’ve grown a second head. “I’d very much like to go. Will that be a problem for you?”
“No. I can take you if that’s what you want.”
“Thank you. I appreciate it.”
He turns his attention towards the window, his fist flexing and relaxing yet again.
“Tell me, am I to expect my blushing bride to always be this overly devout?” he asks after a spell, still glaring at the passing scenery.
“Is going to church regularly a real indicator of anyone’s faith? If I’m not mistaken, most made men have no qualms committing the most horrendous crimes and murders Monday through Saturday and still find the time to go to church every Sunday morning. I don’t think attending mass holds any weight on whether I am a devout Catholic or not.”
“I’m not interested in other people. I asked you the question,” he says, this time looking me dead in the eye.
“I don’t consider myself to be a religious zealot if that’s what you’re asking.”
“But you still want to go to church?”
“I do.”
“Why?”
“Why?” I parrot, aghast.
“Yes, why?”
I take a moment to consider his question since it’s clear he’s not going to drop the subject otherwise.
“It comforts me.”
“Comforts you?”
“Are you going to repeat everything I say? Yes, it comforts me. I’ve been going to church since I was a child. I see nothing wrong with the ritual.”
“So you go out of habit?”
God, this man is infuriating.
“I go because it makes me feel good.”
He takes my explanation and chews it on it for all but ten seconds.
“There are many things a woman can do on her knees that can make her feel good that don’t involve prayer.”
I hate how my cheeks flame at the innuendo. And I hate him even more for planting the idea in my head.
“I wouldn’t know,” I bite back.
He smirks.
“Maybe one day I’ll teach you.”
“One lesson taught by you is enough for me. Thank you very much.”
“Maybe not for me,” he cajoles, his gaze falling from my eyes and landing on my lips.
We’re so consumed with our banter that it takes us a minute to realize the car has stopped.
“We’re here,” Tiernan announces, opening his car door, looking right as rain while I’m a complete hot mess from the way he was devouring my lips with just one look.
I don’t wait for him to open my car door for me since I’ve learned that such gentlemanly behavior is beneath him. I get out of the car and follow him towards the front door of the large building—the words Avalon Exeter in bold silver letters right above the main doors.
“Good evening Mr. Kelly. Mrs. Kelly,” the doorman on call announces as we pass through the large reception area.
My forehead instantly creases at the unfamiliar greeting. I’m not alarmed at the fact this man knows who I am since there was a picture of Tiernan and me on our wedding day spotlighted right on the front page of every Boston newspaper there is.
I do, however, think that it will take me two lifetimes to get used to being called a Kelly.
“Good evening, Jermaine. Please ensure that my wife’s luggage is brought up in a few minutes. My men will help you carry them upstairs.”
“Of course. Is there anything else that you might need?”
“Yes. Can you tell me if Elsa has been to the apartment today?”
“She has, sir.”
“Good. Then that is all.”
Jermaine gives him a pleasant nod but doesn’t spare me a second look.
When we get to the elevator, I watch Tiernan insert a key to gain access to the top floor.
“Who is Elsa?” I ask curiously, since the name doesn’t sound Irish to me.
Latvian, Polish, maybe even German, but definitely not Irish.
“My housekeeper and cook. I told her to have everything in order and a meal ready for us when we arrived.”
“Oh.” I bite my lip.
“Who did you think she was?”
“I don’t know. A friend. A colleague. A mistress even. I don’t know that much about you to make an informed guess on who you let into your apartment.”
“Aside from Elsa, no one else,” he rebukes dryly, making it painstakingly clear that he wished things would stay that way.
I really don’t understand him.
If bringing me home is this much of an inconvenience to him, then why do it?
Unless, of course, this is his olive branch. His subtle way of wanting to give this marriage an actual shot. If that’s the case, then I will milk this opportunity for all it’s worth.
When the elevator doors swing open, we step right into a living room with bare floor-to-ceiling windows all around, giving way to the city’s lights beyond them. My shoulders slump as I take in his sanctuary. The apartment is extravagantly cold and practical. Just like Tiernan. The colors of the interior design never stray from the basic white, black and grey—a bachelor pad if I ever saw one.
“There is the kitchen.” He points to the open-space kitchenette filled with the latest gadgets that I’m sure only Elsa ever uses. “This, of course, is the living room.”
“It’s nice.”
It’s not.
It’s completely soulless.
And I fear that trait fits Tiernan’s personality down to a T.
“Let me show you to your room,” he says, walking to the back of the apartment in long, fluid strides.
I have to quicken my step just to keep up with him.
“Wait? My room?” I ask when his hand is already clutching at a door handle.
Instead of gifting me a response, he opens the door so I can take a peek inside.
Another room with little color and even less imagination.
“Across from you is my home office, and at the end of the hall, my bedroom. I’m going to take a shower, and then there is some work I still have to do tonight. Help yourself to whatever Elsa has cooked us for dinner. I already ate.” And with that explanation he leaves me to it, strutting towards his bedroom, leaving my mouth agape while staring at his backside until he slams his door shut.
Great.
I was stupid to think we were making progress by him moving me into his home. It seems he just switched one prison cell for another.
I slam my bedroom door loud enough for him to hear and fall on my mattress, wondering how my life got this way.
After an hour or so has passed, my stomach begins to grumble, demanding that I venture out of my room in search of food. When I crack my door open, I can hear Tiernan in his office, talking on the phone at the same time he clanks on his keyboard. I slip out and head towards the living room and kitchen. The yellow post-it left on the counter by Elsa tells me I can find a pot roast in the oven. I slice myself a few cuts and add the vegetables to my plate, heating it up in the top-of-the-line microwave. After it dings, I take the plate out and plop onto a nearby stool and begin to eat my dinner.
Alone.
Again.
I should be thankful that my husband doesn’t want to spend any time with me. Wasn’t that why Alejandro had suggested I get pregnant as soon as possible? So I can have a life away from my betrothed? But this doesn’t feel like living. It just feels like I’m letting the days pass me by without any joy to speak of. This isn’t a life.
No.
Alejandro’s plan is a good one.
If I have a child, an heir to the Kelly dynasty, then I’ll finally be able to have a life worth mentioning. Tiernan might not want to be around me—for which I am truly thankful since the man gets on my every last nerve— but he will no longer see me as a nuisance if I just bear him a son. Right now, it’s plain to see he doesn’t know what to do with me. He doesn’t want to be married to me, that much is clear, but he doesn’t know more than that, either. He’s grasping at straws on how to deal with the awkward situation we find ourselves in. As I see it, two lives are being put on hold for the sake of the treaty. His and mine. We are both stuck on an eternal pause button, and neither one of us knows how to press play and just get on with our lives.
With a child, or maybe even more than one, both of us will have some kind of neutral ground to work with. I’ll gain his respect as the mother of his children, and he will leave me to do with my days as I see fit, only conversing with me in regards to his heirs.
He will no longer feel burdened with the shackles of the treaty and will feel free to live his life parallel to mine. Most made men have girlfriends on the side. Some even have homes for their mistresses and share their beds on the daily, leaving only the weekends occupied with their real family. It’s not the fairytale marriage most girls dream about having, but it’s a marriage I can live with.
Who knows?
If I please him enough, Tiernan may even be open to the idea of me having paramours of my own.
Although, as I ponder the idea, it doesn’t seem very likely.
After I’ve had my dinner, I tidy up the kitchen and then take my luggage that his men left beside the elevator doors back to my room. Instead of unpacking, I decide to go back into the living room and spend the rest of my evening watching TV. I scroll through the channels to find something worth watching, but nothing really grabs my attention. I leave it on some show about rich wives and how they go about their spoiled days. I’ve never been a fan of reality television, but their train-wreck drama is preferable to wallowing in thoughts of my own. I’m not sure how long I watched the show for, but somewhere between one blonde slapping another housewife on the show across the face and another making a drunken fool of herself in some swanky restaurant, I must have dozed off. When my lids flutter open, I see that the television has been turned off and that someone has placed a fleece blanket on top of me as I slept.
No. Not someone.
My husband.
Since he’s the only other person in this apartment with me.
Still a little bit groggy, I get up from the couch and walk back to my room. As I walk down the hall, I realize that Tiernan is no longer in his office. A quick glance at the grandfather clock inside his office tells me that it’s not even midnight yet. Either my husband’s busy week has finally taken its toll on him, or he’s avoiding me in his room.
How am I ever going to get pregnant if the only way I can get my husband to touch me is when I’ve somehow pissed him off, so he feels the need to spank me?
If I’m to get what I want, true freedom, then I have to take my future into my own hands and do something about it. With a new resolve, I go into my room and take a quick shower. Once I’m finished, I go in search of the bag that holds my honeymoon lingerie. I pull it over my head and quickly check myself in the mirror to see how it looks.
I feel bite-size chunks of my pride being ripped out of me as I pull down my panties so that all I have on is the embarrassing sheer teddy. I throw a quick prayer up to Virgen de Guadalupe and beg her to give me the courage I need to see this plan through.
I take a deep breath, leave my room, and walk down the hall towards the bedroom where my husband is holed up. I let out a relieved exhale when I turn his door’s knob and find it unlocked. I step inside the dark room, my heart beating a mile a minute that I’ll get caught, or worse—get thrown out on my ass before I’m able to accomplish my mission.
Even through the blanket of night, the full moon casts enough light that I can see Tiernan’s silhouette lying under the covers on the left side of the bed. I walk to the other side and slide in next to him, letting out another sigh of relief when he doesn’t stir awake.
Although now that I’m lying beside him, him being asleep isn’t exactly part of the plan. I was supposed to seduce him, not just lie here looking up at the ceiling, not knowing what to do next.
Mierda .
What now?
“Your thoughts are as loud as your feet,” Tiernan suddenly says, making my heart flip of its own accord.
“You’re awake,” I croak out.
“Hard not to be with all your racket,” he mumbles, still half asleep as he turns around to face me. “What do you want, Rosa? What was so goddamn important that you felt the need to sneak into my bed in the middle of the night?”
“Teach me,” my response is immediate.
“Come again?” he asks, sounding more alert than he was a second ago.
“I asked you to teach me.”
The room is shrouded in darkness, yet I can still see how his blue eye turns a shade darker than his green one.
“And what lesson do you want to learn tonight?”
My stomach flutters at the sound of his voice going an octave lower.
“What you said in the car. How can a woman have pleasure while on her knees? I want to know.”
“Do you really?”
“Yes,” I whisper hoarsely.
“Very well. Turn on the light.”
“Is that really necessary?” I grip the bedsheet for dear life.
“If I’m going to teach you to suck cock, then I’m going to see you do it.”
God.
Does he always have to be so crude?
And why the hell does his dirty mouth always bring such salacious imagery to my mind?
When I don’t budge, he turns over to his bedside table and switches the light on.
“There. Much better.”
For him, maybe.
Not for me.
When I planned how this was going to go, I envisioned my actions would be concealed by darkness. I could have mustered enough courage to do what had to be done in the shadows. Not out in the open like this.
“Having second thoughts?” he asks smugly, not hiding how my embarrassment amuses him.
When he snatches the covers out of my death grip, my mortification multiplies tenfold with the loud shriek I let out.
“If you were on the fence about your tutoring, you shouldn’t have worn that.” He points at my teddy.
I’m about to fly out of his bed when Tiernan stops me by wrapping his arms around my waist and holding me hostage.
“Let go,” I seethe through gritted teeth.
“Tsk. Tsk.” He shakes his head behind me. “Haven’t you ever watched the Discovery Channel? You can’t taunt a lion by flaunting such a delicious treat in his face and not expect him to take a bite out of it.”
“I said let go. I’ve changed my mind.”
A shudder runs along my spine as Tiernan leans in closer to my ear, his sweet breath on my skin making my insides melt.
“Next time you decide to sneak into my bedroom and slide into my bed, be prepared to get fucked. Otherwise, get out.” He pushes me away with such force, it’s a miracle I don’t fall to the floor. On shaky knees, I get up off the bed and start making my exit. Tiernan doesn’t so much as let out a snicker as he watches me retreat with my tail tucked between my legs.
Virgen.
Am I this much of a coward?
Even when my own happiness is at stake?
My fingers grip the door knob, but my feet refuse to budge.
When I turn around, Tiernan is sprawled on his bed in nothing but boxers, his arms resting behind his head. There is a large Gaelic crest tattooed to his left muscled pec. Other than that, I can’t see any other tattoos on his firm, muscular body. And to my shame, my greedy eyes are taking in each flawless patch of skin just to make sure I don’t miss one hidden away somewhere.
“I thought you were leaving?” he asks dryly, pulling my attention back to his face.
“I changed my mind.”
“I didn’t know you were so fickle. I’ll make sure to add it to your long list of flaws.”
“You’re making a list? I don’t think you’re the most qualified person to do that. You don’t know the first thing about me.”
“It’s a figure of speech. And I know enough.”
“No, you don’t. We’ve hardly spent any quality time together as husband and wife for you to say that.”
“Does the time I left my handprint on your ass count?”
“No, it doesn’t.”
“Are you sure?” He cocks a brow. “Because in that outfit, that’s the only quality time together as husband and wife I’m interested in right now.”
And to drive the point home, he removes one hand from beneath his head and hides it underneath his Armani briefs. I swallow dryly as I watch him stroke his cock, up and down, ever so slowly.
“Since you’ve changed your mind, does that mean you still want to learn?” His smooth velvety voice makes my lower belly coil in desire.
I nod, licking my suddenly chapped lips.
“Good. Come here.”
I take a step towards the bed, his eyes fixed on me while he strokes his cock in his hand.
“Get on your knees on the bed.”
My pulse quickens with every order, threatening my heart to explode inside my chest at any given moment, but still, I do as he commands and place my knees on the edge of his bed.
“Good girl.”
“Don’t patronize me,” I try to snap back, but my words hold very little heat behind them.
“You don’t like to be called a good girl?” he teases.
“I’m twenty-seven years old. I haven’t been a girl for quite some time.”
“True. But how many twenty-seven-year-olds do you know that still have their hymen intact? Your virginity doesn’t help your argument, now does it?”
The frown that springs forth on my face is immediate.
As if it’s my fault I held on to my virginity for this long.
Like he didn’t have a hand in my forced celibacy when he swore to uphold the treaty.
It was because of him, and men like him, that I spent most of my adult life unable to have friends, much less a boyfriend who was brave enough to touch me. Since the ripe old age of seventeen, everyone knew I was engaged to the notorious Tiernan Kelly, and because of it, my father made sure that any man with a working penis, who even dared to be within arm’s reach of me, needed to hold the last name Hernandez. I don’t know about Tiernan’s sexual past, but I doubt any of his lovers included family members. And if I was to lose my virginity before my wedding day, then that was the pool of men I had at my disposal. Having sex with a cousin, even if twice removed, felt too much like incest for me. I preferred being a virgin to the alternative.
“Just spare me the good girl commentary.”
“Does this mean I shouldn’t expect you to call me Daddy either?” he taunts with a low chuckle.
The man is having fun at my expense while blatantly jerking off in front of me.
God, he’s infuriating.
I would tell him as much if I wasn’t so fascinated by how his cock just seems to grow larger and thicker with each stroke.
“Come closer,” he commands when he sees how transfixed I am by what he’s doing.
I inch closer to him, until my knees hit his bare feet.
“Closer. Put your knees on either side of me,” he instructs, his voice once again sinfully throaty.
Again I do as he says, until my ass is seated on his knees. He pulls his hand out of his boxers and returns it to behind his head.
“Take it out.”
“And by it, you mean—” I point to his bulging shaft.
“My cock, Rosa. Or is there a more sophisticated way to say cock where you come from?”
“Dick,” I mumble more as an insult to him than the name I’m comfortable with to describe his privates.
“Dick will do.” He chuckles. “Just quit stalling and take it out.”
I bite my bottom lip, my gaze falling from his face back to his member. Tiernan lets out a groan, his cock bobbing under the thin black material of his bedsheet.
“How did it do that? You didn’t even touch it,” I ask curiously, honestly amazed that a body part could have a mind of its own and move whenever it felt like it.
He lets out another low chuckle, and it’s the first time I register that he looks relaxed. He doesn’t have that permanent scowl on his face that he persists on keeping anytime he’s with me. He looks boyish somehow. If I squint my eyes just a little bit, he almost looks like his brother, Shay.
Carefree and playful.
“What’s so funny?” I ask, not as nervous as I was a minute ago.
“You. You’re the one that’s funny.”
“Because I don’t know how a man’s anatomy works?”
“Because you are a grown-ass woman, yet you are acting like a child at Christmas, looking at my cock like it’s a toy she desperately wants to play with but doesn’t know how.”
His statement isn’t too far from the truth, I’ll give him that.
“Are you going to tell me or not? How can it bob like that all on its own?”
“You want to see how?”
I nod.
“Bite your lip again,” he orders.
My forehead creases in puzzlement, but I do as he says and bite my lip.
This time instead of him groaning, he mutters the word fuck just as his cock bobs again.
“See? Magic,” he teases, melting further into his mattress.
“Does that happen every time a woman bites her lower lip around you?”
He shakes his head.
“It’s a pesky little habit that only started since you came into my life.”
I don’t know why that provokes butterflies to flap their wings and fly frantically in my stomach, but it does. With the warmth his words bring me, I bite my lip again as I pull his boxers down enough to free his cock. My ass falls back on his legs as I stare at the monstrosity lying in between them.
“I… I was not expecting that.”
“No? What were you expecting? A candy cane?” He plays it off, adding to his previous metaphor.
“Who’s being funny now?” I joke, slapping his thigh. His large muscular mouthwatering thigh.
Gulp.
“Now, what do I do next?” I ask almost breathlessly.
“Touch it,” he instructs, his tone dark and delicious.
Not wanting to spend too much time pondering the pros and cons of what I’m about to do, I fling into action and run a finger up the length of the bulging vein on the side of his cock.
“It’s smooth. Almost like velvet,” I say absentmindedly, in complete and utter awe.
“It will taste even smoother down your throat. Trust me.”
A delicious shudder runs down my spine at his words as I keep stroking his cock, up and down his length, loving how it bobs up, searching for my touch. Once I’m confident that I know what I’m doing, I wrap my hand around the crown and stroke it to its base.
“You’re a natural,” he grunts.
I look up at him through half-mast eyes and see that he’s propped himself up, using his elbows to keep him up so he can have a better view of what I’m doing.
“What now? Tell me what to do.”
The genuine smile that crests his lips makes me preen with pride that I’ve pleased him somehow.
“Use your tongue and lick it. When you feel brave enough, put me inside your mouth.”
The way he tapped into the fact that I’m summoning all my bravery to do any of this makes the whole exchange less frightening to me somehow. It also shows me that there is a hidden side to Tiernan that can be caring. Even affectionate. I much prefer this side of him to the one who has no regard for me whatsoever. Needing to keep him like this, docile and sweet, I make a note to try and please him with my tongue in any way I can.
Slowly, with my eyes locked on his, I lower my body until his cock is inches away from my face. My eyelids only close when my tongue twirls around his crown, tasting his salty essence and breathing into my lungs his very male musky scent. There is also a hint of citrus that drifts off his warm skin.
And Tiernan is definitely warm.
The man is a furnace, burning away and scorching my tongue.
A total contradiction to the arctic chill he’s thrown at me for the past week.
I try not to focus on that thought and instead put all my attention into licking his cock clean. But as I do it, the most confusing and unexpected thing happens. My core begins to constrict with every lick and languid stroke of the tongue. The apex between my inner thighs becomes slick with wetness, and I feel it pouring down my legs and onto his. If he feels it, he doesn’t say anything, content in me performing the task at hand. The sudden need to have more of him is overwhelming, and before I know what I’m doing, my mouth latches onto his length and pulls him into my mouth as far as I can take him.
“Jesus, fuck,” Tiernan groans loudly, his fingers going straight to my hair. “Give a man a fucking warning, acushla .”
I don’t ask him if I’m doing it wrong, since I can taste on the tip of my tongue that I’m not. The salty sweetness burst onto my tastebuds, urging me on. The way his fingers dig into my hair, forcing me to swallow him up and down, only increases the hollowness between my legs. I feel bereft as well as powerful.
He was right.
This is a much better way to enjoy being on my knees.
“Relax your throat, acushla .”
I do as he says and try to relax my throat, although I’m not really sure how someone can do that. Tiernan uses my hair, like one would use reins on a prized stallion to race to the finish line, and guides me to swallow more of him. His hard shaft dominates me completely as it fills my mouth, until it’s touching my tonsils. Tears start streaming from the corners of my eyes, but he doesn’t let up, and I wouldn’t want him to, either. I try to relax my jaw, my hands finding purchase on his hips, so that I can take in more of him.
“Fuck. Just like that,” he praises, making me work ten times harder to hear him say those words again.
Unashamedly I begin to rub myself on his legs, desperate for the friction, as he plunges in and out of my mouth. I’m wet and needy and so turned on I think I’m about to combust into flames. But just as I’m getting into the rhythm that will ensure we both cum like this, I’m suddenly pulled off my prize and flung onto the bed.
“What… What… did I do something wrong?” I ask, saddened that he pulled me away from his cock.
But as I stare into Tiernan’s eyes, his blue one the color of a sea storm, my insides quiver in anticipation. He licks his lips, his gaze falling from my face, to my chest, and then quickly back to my face again.
“My turn.”