Total pages in book: 110
Estimated words: 102185 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 511(@200wpm)___ 409(@250wpm)___ 341(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 102185 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 511(@200wpm)___ 409(@250wpm)___ 341(@300wpm)
“That’s fine. I understand.”
“Would it be here or . . .?”
“I was hoping I could show you, show you both, the ranch where I grew up.” The rush of nerves through my veins keeps my voice low, fearing rejection. It could happen at any point, so my hopes are held on standby just in case.
“Would we meet your family?”
“Do you want to?” I counter, not even considering how my family fits into the picture at this point in the relationship or with Jacob.
She scoots closer and snuggles against my side. With her eyes hidden from me, I close mine and kiss the top of her head. “I think it would be nice, but . . .”
My eyes flash open again. “But?” I ask, staring off the front of the porch where I can no longer make out the trees from the dark sky.
“It’s not the right time to share who Jacob is to them or you.”
I breathe easier, knowing we’re on the same page. “I agree. Doing things at a pace best for him is my focus.”
She kisses my chest, and whispers, “Thank you.”
Wrapping my arms around her, I say, “I could get used to falling asleep with you.”
“We can’t fall asleep this time.” She pokes her head up. “I need to get back soon.”
“How soon?” I begin to shift from her hold and move lower on the bed. “And what can I do to convince you to stay a while longer?”
Her legs butterfly open for me, causing my cravings to kick in again. My dick is already hard before I dip under the sheet and slide my shoulders between her legs, ready to satisfy my hunger. I start with an appetizer of kisses before my tongue dives in for the main course.
“Stay over at the Riggins’s house most of the night?” my dad asks, looking up from a crossword puzzle book next to an empty plate on the table when I finally show my face after sleeping well past lunch.
Running my hands over my hair, I seem to think I have a chance in hell of taming its rough stage of bedhead. “Yeah. Got back around three.”
“What were you doing?”
Replying, Cricket Dover, isn’t the response to go with, but I’m having trouble thinking of another fast enough. He looks over at where I’ve stopped on the bottom step, and asks, “Working on a project over there?”
I step down and walk to the fridge. “Something like that.” Tugging the door open, I bend down to see what the selection is today. Orange juice, milk, prune juice . . . I glance back at my dad, water and beer. I grab the carton of OJ and set it on the counter. “It’s mine now.”
“What is?” He shifts in his chair, resting his arm across the back as he looks at me.
“The house. Since he left it to me, it’s mine.” I pour half a glass before cleaning my mess. “I didn’t know he’d do that, but I sort of feel my return makes more sense now.”
“How so?”
I take my glass and sit at the table. “I can’t live here forever, Dad. This is your home.”
Setting down the pencil in his hand on the bent-covered book, he says, “It’s yours as well, son.”
“I know, but you also know what I mean. The other house is . . . it’s an opportunity for me to have something here in the Pass that’s solely my own.” I drink some juice and watch for his reaction.
He pushes the book away and angles toward me, giving me his full attention. “It’s quite the gift, Griffin—”
“It is.”
“But your mom would say it’s a gift putting you on the road you’re meant to be on.”
She’s not wrong. A lot of things brought me back to my hometown, but there are even more keeping me here. “Might as well get some use out of it.”
“And keep you busy. A man needs to be busy either in mind, spirit, or physically. All three are best, but one or two keep you moving forward in life.” He stands to set his plate in the sink. “Sounds like you have a reason to stay.”
Jacob, Cricket, the house . . . all good reasons. “If I didn’t before, I do now.”
CHAPTER 29
Cricket
I keep checking on Jacob in my rearview mirror. He’s content staring out the window, counting cows, horses, and even the odd alpaca he spots across the farmlands as I drive us from one county over to the next.
“Pizza,” he says, pointing at the pizzeria in downtown Peachtree Pass.
I see the pizza artwork on the window and smile, thinking about how everything changed after the game that night. A few beers, a couple of slices, and Griffin Greene make for a good time. I slow down on Main Street to look at the progress being made. A new Tex-Mex restaurant sign is being hung at the top of the end space. A cowboy hat sign dangles under the awning three spaces down from that one. But it’s one of the spaces across the street with nothing more than the steel framework that has me pulling off to the side.