Total pages in book: 101
Estimated words: 97037 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 485(@200wpm)___ 388(@250wpm)___ 323(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 97037 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 485(@200wpm)___ 388(@250wpm)___ 323(@300wpm)
“Jett, come on. You had a very healthy sex life when we were growing up. According to Bea, you know how to strap up like a pro.”
He grimaces. “Why does my great-grandma think it’s okay to talk about my sex life?”
“Probably the same reason they think it’s okay to hope a man of God can’t skate.”
He snorts at my reference to the Prophets, shaking his head. “They’re insane.”
“They are,” I agree, and I notice our pace has slowed a bit, like we don’t want to get back so quickly. “I’m just saying, I’m surprised no one locked you down.”
He cups the back of his neck, looking ahead of us. “Maybe I don’t want to be locked down.” I’m not surprised by his answer, but that doesn’t mean it doesn’t bother me. I don’t know why; I’ll be gone in a year, but still. “There had to be someone.”
He shrugs. “One, Nancy. I almost proposed.”
Why does that make my heart ache? “Why didn’t you?”
He looks down at the ground, sighing deeply. “Just didn’t see myself with her for the long-term.”
“Well, that’s ominous.”
He chuckles. “Maybe, but it’s the truth.” He looks over at me. “I heard you just broke up with someone before you came.”
My eyes widen in shock, but then I remember who my grandmother is. “Big-mouth Kitty.”
He chuckles. “They are best friends for a reason. Both with big mouths.” I roll my eyes. “So, tell me what happened?”
I wring my fingers, shrugging. “I’m too much for him.”
He gives me a look. “I call bullshit.”
“I’m serious. When I’m not too much, I’m called a robot.”
He pulls his brows together. “A robot?”
“Yeah, I don’t feel things for anyone, apparently, and guys don’t tend to want me for long.”
“That’s insane. You’re so vibrant.”
His words make my soul shine. “Too vibrant, I guess. Chad, my ex, used my mental diagnoses against me. He’d throw whatever I told him my therapist said to me in my face whenever we’d get into it.”
He blinks a few times before glancing over at me. “What the fuck, Fable?”
“I know. It was toxic, and I realized that I’d wasted a year of my life.”
“That’s fucked up.”
“Yeah, but he’s the kind of guy that wanted to know all the labels I had.”
Jett looks completely and utterly confused. “Labels?”
I look away, swallowing hard. “Yeah, I was diagnosed with ADHD when I was thirty-six, and she keeps adding disorders every six months or so.” I take a deep breath, letting it out slowly. “She diagnosed me with impostor syndrome, and he rubbed my nose in it.”
“The fuck?” he mutters, and it’s easy to see he’s pissed. “Impostor syndrome… Or is it childhood trauma from your fucked-up parents?”
“You’re not wrong.”
He scoffs. “I mean, I get the ADHD, but even then, fuck labels.”
My lips lift. “Yeah, but he was obsessed with them, more so with the fact that my—” I pause, unable to admit my asexual status. Would it freak Jett out? Would he look at me differently? But really, am I truly asexual?
Because the things I feel for him are absolutely sexual.
When he stops, he grabs my wrist, and I look up to find his tortured gaze set on me. My wrist burns where his palm holds me, and instantly, I’m out of breath as I hold his gaze. “Those labels are unnecessary, princess. You’re you, and you are absolutely enough, just the way you are.”
I blink and hold back the tears as I gaze into his eyes. I want to tell him about the asexual thing—maybe he’ll prove it wrong—but all I can do is stare at him. A small grin curves one side of his mouth before he tucks a piece of my hair behind my ear. “Don’t listen to that shit, okay?”
All I can do is nod, and when he starts to walk again, I follow. I try not to make a big deal about the fact that he’s still holding my wrist. I want to thread my fingers through his, but I’m unsure if he’d like that. The silence between us is comfortable, but I still want to know more about him. “You have a lot of tattoos. Did Hazel do them?”
A smile plays on his lips, his love for his grandma shining in his eyes. “Yeah, all of them.”
“That’s insane,” I say with a grin. “I want her to do one for me.”
His eyes meet mine, dancing with something I can’t define. “I can’t believe you got tattooed.”
My grin grows. “I got my first one after Vancouver, and then I couldn’t stop. I made sure not to do my arms or below my knees because you know how my parents are.” He doesn’t have to answer. We both know they are against anything that isn’t “normal.”
I’m in that category.
“But I love them. They make me happy.”
“How many do you have?”