Total pages in book: 92
Estimated words: 87913 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 440(@200wpm)___ 352(@250wpm)___ 293(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 87913 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 440(@200wpm)___ 352(@250wpm)___ 293(@300wpm)
The drive is silent, tension-filled, and absolutely uncomfortable. I hate it, hate every single second that I’m stuck in the cab of his SUV, breathing in his scent, while denying myself the normalcy of reaching over and touching him or having his hand on my thigh, where he always has it when he’s driving.
I’m so mad at him.
No, that’s not true. I’m not mad; I’m hurt. My chest physically aches, because while I’ve been happy in this new place with him—where we’re getting to know each other as more than just friends—he’s obviously thought about us getting married. But not with some romantic notion in mind, where he knows that I’m the one and he can’t imagine life without me. No, he’s thought about it, because it would be smart and easier.
What does that even mean?
I want to ask, but I know that anything I say right now will come out all wrong, and I don’t want to make things worse. I also don’t want to fight with him, and with my emotions already so heightened, I know that I need to tread carefully.
When we get to our block, and he parks, I unhook my seat belt and start to reach for the door handle.
“Don’t even think about it, Francisca,” he snaps, and I freeze. “Even if you’re pissed, I open the door for you.” Getting out, he slams his door and walks around the hood to my door, swinging it open. When my feet are on the ground, he shuts the door and walks at my side to the front of the building, opening that door too.
Stepping inside, I avoid meeting his gaze. “I’ll see you later.”
“When?” he asks my back as I start to walk down the hall to my apartment.
“I don’t know. I’ll call you.”
“When?”
“I don’t know.” I look back at him. God, why does he have to be so fricking beautiful?
“That’s not a good enough answer, Franny,” he growls, and I squeeze my eyes closed.
“I don’t want to do this right now.” I’ve never had to do this. “If I told Matthew I didn’t want to talk, he’d just leave me be. He’d go away an—”
“And I’m not Matthew,” he cuts me off while I’m scrambling mentally, trying to figure out why I even said that.
Why did I bring up Matthew right now? That was stupid and careless and so mean.
“I’m—” I start to apologize, but he cuts me off again before I can.
“I don’t give a fuck that he felt okay leaving you alone to figure shit out on your own. This is me and you. If we have an issue, we talk and sort it out.”
“Okay, we’ll talk tomorrow.”
“No,” he states.
“You just asked when we would talk, and I told you. Now you’re saying no.”
He shakes his head while staring me straight in the eye. “I’m not giving you an entire evening to sit alone in your apartment and overthink shit, Francisca.”
“Fine, let’s talk.” I give in. It’s obvious that he’s not going to just let me go, and maybe I shouldn’t want to. Leaving after feeling slighted didn’t work in my last relationship, so doing the same thing with him and hoping for a different result in the end is just setting up my own demise.
“Good, but we’re not having this conversation in the middle of a fucking hallway.” He wraps his hand around mine and leads me to the elevator.
Once PJ and I are inside with him, he presses the button for his floor. When the doors open back up, PJ runs to Dayton’s apartment and jumps up, resting his paws on the wood in a wasted attempt to get inside before us. He loves being at Dayton’s as much as I do, and over the last two weeks, we’ve both gotten comfortable in his space, since we’ve stayed over every night since Dad was released from the hospital.
Opening his door, Dayton waits until I’m inside before he steps in behind me, sliding my bag from my shoulder making it clear he plans on me staying.
“All right, let’s talk.” He tosses his keys on the stand next to the door and puts my purse down next to them.
Wrapping my arms around my middle, I draw in a breath, then ask the question, burning the back of my throat. “Why would you tell my dad that we’re getting married?”
“Because it would be smart.”
Smart. I’m really starting to despise that word.
“That’s not a reason to get married, Dayton,” I tell him softly, and the muscle in his jaw flexes.
“All right, then, because I’m fucking selfish.” His fists clench at his sides as his eyes scan mine. “Because you still have your ex-husband’s last name. Because my kid is growing inside you. Because I don’t fucking like the idea of you being able to just walk away and me unable to do shit about it.”