Total pages in book: 90
Estimated words: 89012 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 445(@200wpm)___ 356(@250wpm)___ 297(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 89012 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 445(@200wpm)___ 356(@250wpm)___ 297(@300wpm)
“Definitely not what you were doing while you were gone, that’s for sure.” She winks as she stands. “I’m glad you had fun. I’m just as happy that you’re back. Now stay focused, and don’t be sitting in here daydreaming about your new girlfriend.”
I start to argue with her and tell her she’s not my girlfriend. But I stop.
“That’s what I thought,” she says. “Door open or closed?”
“Closed.”
It shuts behind her.
I manage to focus on my work for a solid hour, pushing all thoughts of Ashley out of my mind. It’s easier than it was earlier today or yesterday. It’s easier because I accepted reality.
I’m in love with her. Plain and simple. That’s what this feeling is all about. As soon as I acknowledged that, the panic in my stomach settled.
“Go with the flow,” I say aloud, hoping that hearing it as well as thinking it helps stamp it in my head. “There’s no need to rush to do anything. We’re so good together. We’ll figure it out.”
I nod, turning back to my computer when my phone buzzes.
Paige: Make it home, lover boy?
Me: Had a great time, thanks for asking.
Paige: I didn’t.
Me: I was willing to ignore your lack of manners. Don’t draw attention to it.
Paige: Should I put Ashley on the Christmas present list or not yet?
I stare at the question. Christmas is months away.
Me: Yeah. She likes romance novels and birds.
Paige:
Me: What’s so funny?
Paige: Didn’t expect you to fall THIS HARD.
Me: Strangely enough, your brother Banks helped me work some shit out last night.
My phone rings, and I look down. Huh? “Why are you calling me? I have shit to do, Paige.”
“I have to tell you something, and I don’t want to text it.”
Why? “Tell me then so I can get on with my day.”
“So when you were gone, Banks called me. And he’s like—Mad is gonna come home, and I don’t know what to say to him.”
My brows pull together. “About what? About the cereal on my counter? Or the cheese powder? Or why the tube thing that you put the toilet paper on is gone from my guest bathroom?”
“Hey, you gave him a key.”
“Nope. That’s false. I did not.” I think. “I’m not even sure how he has a key, now that you mention it.”
“Reason six million that I’m glad I live far away.”
“Such a liar, little sister,” I say, laughing. “Anyway, back to Banks. What was he wanting to talk to me about?”
“Honestly, I think he was trying to help himself as much as you because he didn’t want you all moody and ruining his sticker fun.”
I groan. “Fuck those stickers.”
“I heard that went well,” she says, laughing.
“For whom? Because let me tell you something—this isn’t ending well for anyone involved. He put his face on every tile in his kitchen, Paige. On his condoms. He covered a toilet seat with them.”
Her laughter gets louder. “He sent me pictures before you got home. I was nervous even opening the images because that could implicate me later, right?”
“I’m glad someone else has blood on their hands.”
She sighs. “Anyway, Banksy and I had a few chats about being a good listener. I told him to let you bring up Ash and then to just ask you questions and let you work it out.”
My brain scrambles. That’s exactly what he did.
Is this the toddler phase with Banks? Is he trying to grow up? This is unexpected but pleasantly received.
“Seems like you worked it out,” she says.
“I guess I did.” And for once in his life, Banks did too. To say I’m shocked is an understatement.
“When you’re ready to propose, call me. Do not listen to any of our brothers. Don’t ask Mom, or it’ll be a huge production, and she’ll probably be peeking through the bushes to watch. Don’t make it weird.”
I sigh, enjoying this odd but totally normal-feeling conversation with my sister.
“I’m not proposing anytime soon,” I say.
“We’ll see.”
“Yeah, we will.”
She yawns. “Okay, go do your … whatever it is you do all day. Nate is working with Troy today, so Ryder and I are going to the zoo, I think.”
“Fun.”
“Probably not.” She laughs. “Call me later. You never call me.”
“You never call me either.”
“I just did.”
I roll my eyes, but I’m smiling. “Gotta go, Paige. Love you.”
“Love you, Mad.”
I eye my computer and the many emails I need to return. Instead of doing that, I open my photo album. I didn’t see Ashley take her cleavage shot, but I truly love that she did, and she sent it to me. Not just because she’s sexy, but because it’s a sign that she’s mine.
A knot begins to twist in my stomach. It cinches tighter and tighter until I find it hard to breathe.
My fingers fly across the text screen.
Me: Hi.
Ashley: Hi.
Me: Want to go to dinner tonight?