Total pages in book: 90
Estimated words: 91065 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 455(@200wpm)___ 364(@250wpm)___ 304(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 91065 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 455(@200wpm)___ 364(@250wpm)___ 304(@300wpm)
Me:
Just had The Talk with Wyatt to see how she feels about “US”
Dex:
You did? What’s the verdict?
Me:
She’s fine with it. We can set something up, I feel like it’s safe
Dex:
Safe? Gee, try not to sound so enthused.
Me:
Sorry, but now I’m incredibly nervous . . . !
Dex:
It’ll be fine. I’m great with kids
Me:
You are?
Huh. Interesting.
Me:
Which kids?
Dex:
My friends have kids—give me some credit. They all love Uncle Dex . . . especially Kalen Baker’s son. Loved that drum kit I sent him for Christmas.
Me:
OMG I would hate you.
Dex:
Yeah, Kalen hates me all right LOL
I smile at the screen, feeling a flutter of anticipation.
Chapter 22
Dex
I settle on rock climbing.
I figure it will be fun for Wyatt, and also, I get to see Margot’s lower half in one of those harnesses you’re required to wear.
Plus.
She’ll get to see me in one, too, if you catch my drift.
We agree to meet at the climbing center. It’s crowded, but not everyone is participating in rock climbing—they have miniature golf, too, something she and I have done already in a roundabout way.
I lean against a tall column in the lobby waiting, wondering if I should be outside watching for them, second-guessing myself.
So unlike me.
Stuff my hands in the pockets of my athletic pants, trying my best to look casual.
It’s an impossible task.
The last time I felt casual and unaffected was . . . at a bar, probably. It helps knowing there’s no need to exert effort when people approach me, and by people, I mean women. I do not go to them. Don’t have to.
Yeah, yeah, I know what you’re thinking—I sound cocky and arrogant and not worthy of a woman like Margot because I’m an immature bag of shit, and to that I say: So what?
I never claimed to be perfect, and I’ve been up front from the beginning.
Mostly.
The way I see it, I’m up against three things when it comes to Margot and her affection:
She straight up told me to my face not to fuck with her unless I was serious. She is a package deal.
I’m fucking with her anyway, even though I’m not in the market for said package.
I’m keeping a secret from her now, and it may or may not fester, depending on how I spin the truth. To myself, or to her.
Time will tell.
Not that she has to find out about my conversation with Trent, but I was an idiot when I told Landon about it because saying the words out loud somehow made it feel sordid?
“We’re just friends and she knows it. Deep down inside she knows this isn’t the real deal,” I mutter to myself.
How could she? I am a grown child!
“Now is not the time to grow a conscience.” I shrug off the angel on my shoulder—he has no place here. I haven’t done anything wrong.
“Dex!” a voice calls to me, and I see Wyatt flying toward me, braids flapping behind her as she beelines toward the column where I stand.
“Hey, Wyatt.” I return her enthusiasm, though it may not quite reach my eyes. Too much on my mind for that.
I try to shake it off . . .
“Hello, Mommy,” I say to Margot.
She scowls. “Don’t do that.”
“Too soon?” I chuckle.
“Uh—yeah.” She laughs, though, shooting her gaze at her daughter.
Whoops.
Guess I shouldn’t be making innuendos in front of the kid. She’s too smart. In fact, her beady little gaze is bouncing between her mom and me, back and forth, back and forth until I clear my throat.
Busted.
“Who’s ready to have fun?”
Wyatt’s arm shoots in the air enthusiastically, as if she were raising her hand at school. She waves it around for good measure.
“I cannot wait to climb this wall. There’s nothing I want more,” Margot deadpans, and I can’t decide if she’s being sarcastic or not, so I ignore her tone.
I tilt my head.
Goddamn, she’s cute even when she’s being a shithead.
Margot is dressed in one of those ways chicks dress when they try to look like they made no effort in their appearance but took a ridiculous amount of time to make it look like they made no effort in their appearance.
Leggings. T-shirt with a college logo. Sneakers.
Fanny pack.
My brows go up at that choice.
I’ve taken the liberty of getting us registered and have the waivers ready for Margot to sign. All that’s left is introducing ourselves to the climbing instructor, who is so granola he doesn’t recognize me, and if he does, he clearly does not give a shit.
He is so. Into. Rock climbing.
Nerd.
“I’m going to run to the bathroom before we get started,” Margot announces, giving her daughter one of those looks my mother used to give me when I was young. It says “Behave while I’m gone.”
I watch her walk off, sidestepping several people along the way, as the place is moderately busy.
As soon as her mother is out of sight, Wyatt whirls toward me, eyes wide. “You know what we should do?”