Total pages in book: 84
Estimated words: 81207 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 406(@200wpm)___ 325(@250wpm)___ 271(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 81207 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 406(@200wpm)___ 325(@250wpm)___ 271(@300wpm)
“Maggie! They’re here!” Mom shouts from somewhere behind me.
“You what?” I ask.
“Nothing. We should get in there. Your mom looks excited to see us.” Donovan gets out of the car and walks around to my side.
He and Mom get there at the same time, and I’m distracted by their hug. She loves him like I do—well, not exactly like I do, or that could be awkward. But Donovan is like a son to her, and that makes me feel warm and mushy inside.
Maggie and Calvin, Donovan’s parents, come out of the house. Donovan looks a lot like his father. The same kind, brown eyes, the same bighearted smile. He has his mom’s shorter height, though, and his dad has always been bigger and more muscular than Donovan.
I open the door, and Donovan immediately offers to help me. “I got it.” I grin at him, feeling it deeply inside myself, to the parts of me that only Donovan can reach.
“Oh, come here. Give me a hug. I missed you so much.” Mom pulls me into her arms.
“Hey, Mama. Happy birthday. I missed you too.”
“Good to see you, son.” I watch over her shoulder as Donovan and Calvin embrace.
“Good to see you too, Dad.”
“Then why don’t you get your ass home more often?” Calvin cocks a brow, and Donovan holds his hands up.
“I know. My bad. We’ll try and make it home more often. I mean, I will.”
“Hey. You’re not allowed to come home without me.” I throw an arm around him and can’t help but take in his scent. He smells so fucking good, he almost gets my dick hard.
“My turn,” Maggie says. She’s a tiny little thing, one of those people who don’t put weight on them no matter how much they eat.
I pull back so Donovan can give her a hug too. He lifts her off the ground, and she laughs. When he’s done with his mom, he comes to mine. “Happy birthday, Mama S.” He kisses her forehead.
“Thank you. And thanks for taking care of my boy. I can’t believe he broke his ankle.” The group of us walk toward the house.
“I’m not doing anything. Eric is good at taking care of himself. He just lives with me and helps with my rent.”
Way to try and sell me as being more independent than I am, while not seeing how awesome he is.
“Don’t let him fool you,” I say. “He’s always trying to take care of me. If he had anything to say about it, I wouldn’t lift a finger.”
“You boys have always been good at taking care of each other,” Maggie says. “That’s what makes your relationship so special.”
“She’s not wrong.” I nudge Donovan with my arm.
“No. She’s not.” He gives me a strange smile I find hard to read. I don’t like it when I can’t sort out one of his faces.
The house smells good—Calvin must’ve been cooking.
Donovan sits on the couch, and I go down beside him.
I try hard not to touch him too much. We’ve always been affectionate, so I don’t think it’s something they’ll notice anyway, but now that we touch each other in different ways, it’s hard not to have my hands on him as much as possible—palm against his thigh, arm around him, curling up against him because Donovan is really good at snuggling.
Calvin goes into the kitchen to check the food, and Donovan goes with him. When the two of them are together, they spend as much time bonding as they can.
“When do you go back to work?” Mom asks, which makes dread fill my gut. Is this when I tell her I don’t have a job to go back to? And then she worries I’ll never get my shit together? I hate feeling like I disappoint her. It’s not something she would ever say to me, but I can’t deny it sometimes feels like it. Maybe disappointment is not the right word. I’m just not as good at stuff or as smart as she is or Dad was.
“Actually, about that… Cliff let me go.”
“What? Because of your ankle? He can’t do that.”
“Yes and no. But what’s the alternative? Fight for my job back from someone who clearly doesn’t want me around? I’ve started looking for something else.”
“You can’t let him get away with that. I understand not wanting to work with someone like that, but what about your bills? Medical insurance? Are you getting unemployment? Oh, honey, is that why you moved in with Donovan?” And now I feel about two inches tall. She’s right. Of course she is. “He can’t take care of you.”
“I—”
“I don’t take care of him.” Donovan steps back into the room. “Or I guess I should say I don’t do any more for him than he does for me. He gets up every morning with me to make me breakfast. He meal-preps so I have lunch, and makes sure I don’t work too hard, and reminds me to have fun.”