Total pages in book: 53
Estimated words: 48808 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 244(@200wpm)___ 195(@250wpm)___ 163(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 48808 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 244(@200wpm)___ 195(@250wpm)___ 163(@300wpm)
Maybe I said some shit I shouldn't have said.
Perhaps I didn't call for a few days because I would have lost my mind if I had to listen to her tell me about her perfect night with someone who wasn't me.
But she's the one who iced me out.
Hell, she was icing me out long before that. I don't remember when she stopped sharing shit with me the way she did when we were kids, but it was years before her senior prom. She became downright arctic after it, though. And she hasn't thawed at all over the years.
If anything, she's grown even colder, even more distant. The only goddamn place I have in her life is the one I've forced myself into over the years—not quite a friend, but not someone she can ignore, either. Maybe it's fucked up or immature, but I'm petty and desperate enough to make sure she can't forget I exist, no matter how much she wishes she could. I pop up like a goddamn car salesman, showing up when she least expects it.
Family dinner? Surprise, princess.
Mia's birthday? Can't ignore me now, baby.
I take any little scrap I can get, because it's better than having no place in her life at all. It's better than just being someone she used to know.
I want every piece of her, starting with the truth. Why the fuck did she quit her job? Whatever happened, I know it's bothering her. I saw it written all over her face when I asked in the kitchen. But she blew me off, refusing to tell me.
I've never wanted to spank the truth out of someone as badly as I do her. I am not that fucking stupid, though. Chloe would rip my balls off and feed them to the Chihuahua next door if I even tried it.
Instead, I cook dinner for her while Thanos supervises from his bed in the corner. I guess their afternoon walk went better than our morning walk did.
I'm sure we came home looking like we were both done with life after our disaster of a morning. He came home from their walk with his tongue hanging out and his tail wagging. She was smiling.
I am not jealous of the dog for making her smile.
I'm also full of shit.
"Son of a bitch," I groan, grabbing plates to load them up. I barely have the chicken and roasted veggies arranged when her door slams against the wall.
That's my first indication that she's pissed.
My second is the way she shouts my name like I put dye in her shampoo bottle again. For the record, I didn't. Wyatt and I only did that shit once, when we were fourteen.
The possibilities for punishment are never-ending on a vineyard in the middle of summer break. We sweated every minute of the day for two weeks straight over that bullshit. And she pulled up a fucking lawn chair and watched with a smile on her face for the whole two weeks.
Thanos looks at me like he wants to know what the fuck I did this time. It's a good question. The possibilities are endless.
She stomps into the kitchen with her hands on her hips, fire in her eyes, and a growl on her lips. Fuck, she's beautiful. Her wavy brown hair curls around her flushed face, and her mossy green eyes shoot off sparks.
"What's up?" I ask, trying to pretend like my dick isn't pressed up against my zipper hard enough to leave indentations of the teeth all up and down my shaft.
"You called my dad."
Well, fuck me running.
"Figured he should know you were here," I say, sliding her plate onto the table. He seemed grateful to hear that she wasn't alone. He's worried about her.
"That's not your job," she growls at me.
"He's your dad, princess. I wasn't going to leave him worried that something had happened to you. We both know you don't want that. So, yeah, I called him."
She huffs out a breath, spluttering, but it's not like she has an argument here. She knows I'm right. "I was going to call him," she finally mutters.
"Yeah, but you didn't." I nod at the table before grabbing the bottle of wine I brought for Wyatt. Looks like she needs it more than he does. And whether she appreciates it or not, I'll always look out for her. The last thing she wants is to hurt her parents. I know her well enough to know that. "Sit. Eat."
She blinks as if just noticing the food on the table or the mess of dishes in the sink. "You cooked?"
"Figured you were hungry." I shrug like it's not a big deal. Feeding her isn't a big deal. The fact that she hasn't eaten anything except for half of a banana since she got here worries the fuck out of me, though.