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After We Collided (After, #2) by Anna Todd Read Online (FREE)

“She’s pretty,” he whispers into cupped hands.

“Yeah, she is. Isn’t she?” I nod and look up at Tess with her hair pulled up into some sort of nest on top of her head, her yoga pants and a plain T-shirt still on, and I nod again. She’s beautiful, and she doesn’t even have to try.

I know she can hear us still, and I catch a glimpse of her smile as she turns to finish her task in the kitchen. I don’t get why she’s smiling like that; so what if I’m talking to this kid? He’s still annoying, like all the other half-sized humans.

“Yeah, really pretty,” he agrees again.

“Okay, calm down, little dude. She’s mine,” I tease.

He looks at me with an O for a mouth. “Your what? Your wife?”

“No—fuck, no,” I scoff.

“Fuck, no?” he repeats.

“Shit, don’t say that!” I reach across the couch to cover his mouth.

“Don’t say ‘shit’?” he asks, shaking free of my hand.

“No, don’t say ‘shit,’ or ‘fuck.’ ” This is one of the many reasons I shouldn’t be around kids.

“I know they’re bad words,” he tells me, and I nod.

“So don’t say them,” I remind him.

“Who is she if she isn’t your wife?”

God, he’s a nosy little shit. “She’s my girlfriend.” I should have never got this kid talking in the first place.

He folds his hands together and looks up at me like a little priest or something. “You want her to be your wife?”

“No, I don’t want her to be my wife,” I say slowly but clearly so he can hear me and maybe get it this time.

“Ever?”

“Never.”

“And you have a baby?”

“No! Hell, no! Where do you get these things?” Just hearing them aloud is stressing me out.

“Why do—” he starts to ask, but I cut him off.

“Stop asking so many questions.” I groan and he nods before grabbing the remote out of my hand and changing the channel.

Tessa hasn’t checked up on us in a few minutes, so I decide to go into kitchen and see if she’s almost finished. “Tess . . . are you almost done, because he’s talking way too much,” I complain, grabbing a piece of broccoli from the dish she’s preparing. She hates when I eat before a meal is ready, but there is a five-year-old in my living room, so I can eat this damn broccoli.

“Yeah, just another minute or two,” she answers without looking at me. Her tone is strange, and something seems off.

“You okay?” I ask her when she turns around with glassy eyes.

“Yeah, I’m fine. It was just the onions.” She shrugs and turns the faucet on to wash her hands.

“It’s okay . . . he’ll talk to you, too. He’s warmed up now,” I assure her.

“Yeah, I know. It’s not that . . . it’s just the onions,” she says again.

 

chapter seventy-one

HARDIN

The little shit remains mute and just nods when Tessa asks him cheerfully, “Do you like the chicken, Smith?”