Total pages in book: 80
Estimated words: 80643 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 403(@200wpm)___ 323(@250wpm)___ 269(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 80643 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 403(@200wpm)___ 323(@250wpm)___ 269(@300wpm)
Fuck.
This is stupid.
I don’t know what I’m feeling, but I can’t help but think I crossed a line just slightly too far, kicking him while he’s apparently much more down than I knew.
“I’m sorry,” I tell him. When he doesn’t respond at first, I look up at him and he’s giving me a disbelieving glance. “What?”
“Nothing. Just never heard those words come out of your mouth before.”
I pull in a breath, brushing my hand over his chest again before I move to lie down on my back again, staring up at the ceiling.
The sides of our bodies are touching. The way his bare arm feels pressed up against mine makes me feel like I did when I was young and I first discovered I was attracted to other boys. Every small touch, every accidental contact with other guys used to make me feel like I was finally getting some prize I was always searching for.
It’s been a long time since I felt anything like that.
“Well, I am sorry, so fucking accept it,” I tell him. “You can be good at anything you want to be, by the way.”
“I don’t think that’s true.”
“Trust me, it is.”
“I’m not you, Torin.”
“What the hell is that supposed to mean?”
I see him scrubbing his face with his palms. “You just… do everything. Sometimes it seems like you have a bottomless reservoir of energy and capability. You’ve always been that way.”
“Not always,” I tell him.
He peers over at me. “Really?”
I nod. “There was a time when I was lazy.”
“When you were still in the goddamn crib?”
I snort. “No. When I was a young teenager, right after my dad died.”
He props up in bed and looks over at me. “Your dad died?”
I pull in a long breath. “He did. When I was eleven.”
He’s silent for a moment.
“I always just thought your parents divorced.”
“Oh, they did. They divorced when I was tiny. But I still saw my dad on weekends sometimes, and he was like… a handyman Superman.”
Noah nods. “That must be where you get it from.”
“I think so, too,” I agree. “He had a heart attack. Ever since he passed, I realized that my life is only going to be what I make it. So I make it something fucking awesome.”
“I love that, Torin,” he murmurs.
I hum. “And there’s no reason you can’t do the same.”
He brings his lower lip into his mouth, chewing on it a bit in a way that’s way sexier than it should be.
“I still just don’t think I’m good at anything. Other than collecting old books and cameras, which isn’t a skill, per se.”
“Well, you make the best fucking cup of coffee I’ve ever had.”
He frowns as he looks at me. “You’re saying that’s my calling in life? Making cups of coffee at home?”
“Sure it is. If you let it be. You’re great at it, and you know everything about it. You talk about it to the other guys downstairs in the kitchen so much I want to blow my brains out most mornings, but that means you’re passionate about it.”
“I don’t know whether that’s a compliment or if I want to punch you again.”
I prop myself up on my elbow, looking down at him. “Starbucks only exists because some guy loved coffee and he knew he could sell it to the masses.”
Noah scrunches up his face. “No. Don’t tell me I have to drink Starbucks.”
“You’re such a snob. Starbucks is fucking delicious,” I tell him. “Let me bathe in that creamy cold foam and I’ll die happy.”
He laughs and the way it transforms his expression makes me feel like I’m winning.
“So what if I like coffee?”
“You have all of the resources in the world. You say you don’t know what to finally narrow down and major in. So, just finish your business credits and then open up your own coffee shop after college, one where you can be all snobby and elite. I’d never go there, but other snobby people would.”
His smile fades as he looks away. “The Vancliff family doesn’t do that kind of thing.”
“What?”
“Both of my parents don’t trust anything in the food business. They say most restaurants aren’t profitable.”
I roll my eyes. “I don’t want to hear the word profitable coming from your mouth. You have endless money.”
He narrows his eyes at me. “I can’t open a coffee shop for free.”
“No, but you can stand to take more risks. Try it out for a few years, see where things go.”
“It’s been drilled into me since I was a kid that anything in the food business is a ‘black hole’ for money. My father would laugh me out of the room, and my siblings would be even worse.”
I furrow my brow. “Your father would laugh? No way.”
He looks confused. “Why are you surprised by that?”
“I always got the impression that Phillip was this kind, encouraging, supportive… rich teddy bear,” I say. “I’m surprised he’d ever discourage you from doing something you want to do.”