Total pages in book: 91
Estimated words: 88212 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 441(@200wpm)___ 353(@250wpm)___ 294(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 88212 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 441(@200wpm)___ 353(@250wpm)___ 294(@300wpm)
“I fully intend on filling it up before then, so I’ll be good.”
We share a laugh.
Yeah, it’s not a big deal.
Although, when things aren’t a big deal, I usually don’t have to remind myself that’s the case.
20
Dax
I’m sitting in my car, outside my father’s house, dreading going inside. This is the last place I want to be right now, but it’s Cedric’s birthday, and I promised him I would go to dinner with them.
He’s always trying to find a way for my father and me to connect. I must admit, he’s determined. No matter how many times I tell him it won’t work, or how many times he sees with his own eyes that my dad doesn’t give a fuck about me, Cedric keeps trying. Half the time, I don’t know whether I appreciate it or if I just want him to let it go. I’ve accepted that we will never have a good relationship, that he will never want to be close to me. Maybe it’s time Cedric accepted it too.
My phone buzzes on the passenger seat. I assume it’s my brother, telling me to hurry up and get my ass inside, but when I glance over, it’s Miles.
My lips automatically pull into a grin. There is absolutely no reason to smile simply because he’s sending me a text, but I’ve come to accept that my responses to Miles aren’t like my responses to anyone else. Everything feels bigger with him, which is both annoying and exciting.
I pluck the phone off the seat, wondering what he’ll say. I was surprised when he said I should participate in the charity auction tomorrow. He was so determined that my ass is his, I thought he might be too possessive for that. Have I ever wanted a man to be possessive with me before? Fuck no. Does the thought of Miles being possessive get my dick hard and twist up my thoughts? Hell yes. Like I said, my responses to him aren’t what they are with anyone else.
Miles: Are you there?
Well, shit. Isn’t that sweet? He’s both a super fucking intense sex machine and a secret softy.
Me: Just pulled up. I was about to go in.
I’d joke about his text, but it means a lot to me that he’s checking in. I’m not used to that, partly because I’ve never talked to anyone about my daddy issues, and partly because, well, he’s Miles, and from what everyone sees on the surface, this isn’t the kind of guy he’s supposed to be.
Miles: Hope your dad isn’t too much of a dick.
A laugh tumbles from my mouth, but surprisingly, it also eases my tension. He’s still Miles, and it’s not like he’s had a personality transplant.
Me: He probably won’t be a complete dick. More…passive-aggressive or disinterested.
Which fucking sucks.
Miles: That’s probably worse.
His words couldn’t be truer. They poke and prod at my insecurities.
Me: Yeah, it is.
Miles: I’m here if you need me. You can come over after if you want. I’ll fuck that ass until you forget all about him, fuck you all night and tomorrow so you’re nice and full of my cum before the bachelor auction.
My dick stirs, heat flooding my groin as I begin to plump up.
Me: I would much rather be there taking your cock than being here.
But I also can’t depend on Miles to make me forget my fucking life either. It’s not like my situation will ever change.
Me: I’m gonna go in. I’ll message you later.
Me: And thanks. For checking on me. It means a lot.
I don’t wait for a reply, instead getting out of the car and shoving my phone into my back pocket.
Cedric and Dad live in the same house we all lived in when Mom was alive. The first time I’d ever lived anywhere else was when I left for college. It’s hard being here sometimes because there are memories around every corner. Every closet I’d tuck away in while playing hide-and-seek with Mom and Cedric. The table I would sit at to do my homework, Dad getting upset with me because school didn’t come as easily to me as it did to Cedric. The backyard where Dad would play catch with Cedric, but never asked me to play. His excuse was always that sports weren’t my thing, and he wasn’t wrong, but that’s not why he never played with me like he did with my brother. He just didn’t care enough to make the effort.
I climb the porch steps, trying to ignore the twisting and turning in my gut. The door opens as soon as I hit the top stair, my brother giving me a wide, happy smile, and that helps loosen the tension that being home always makes me feel.
“Hey, big bro,” I tell him.
“Hey, little bro,” he replies.
We embrace, and not for the first time, I think about how lucky I am to have him. How despite the bad shit in our lives, we’ve always stayed close, had each other’s backs, and never let anything get between us. It hasn’t always been easy, but I can’t remember ever not being thankful for him.