Total pages in book: 37
Estimated words: 36002 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 180(@200wpm)___ 144(@250wpm)___ 120(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 36002 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 180(@200wpm)___ 144(@250wpm)___ 120(@300wpm)
She nods and then grabs a bottle of water for herself. Once we’re seated at the kitchen table, I’m suddenly aware of how domestic the whole scene is.
“You’re going to go to my doctor’s appointments with me?” she asks, eyebrows furling together. “You don’t have to.”
“Someone has to pay for them.”
It’s a mean thing to say, but it comes out before I can stop it.
“You can just write the check, asshole,” she snaps. “You don’t have to put on all these special touches like you’re trying to impress me.”
A grilled cheese sandwich impresses her? The girl needs to get out more.
As soon as the thought of her going out with friends or guys plays through my head, I immediately retract it. Party time is over. She’s a mother now. Or so she says.
Would Abby lie about being pregnant?
No. She can be a menace, but that’s not something she would do. There’s no reason for it. In fact, there is a lot of hesitation on her part. As though she doesn’t like the idea of accepting anything from me.
When we finish up and the kitchen is clean, awkwardness settles over us. I clear my throat and then jut my thumb toward the door. “I should go.”
“Can you stay for a bit?” She shudders as if it physically pains her to ask me. “Please? I just…I don’t want to be alone right now. We can watch a movie or something.”
I told Angela I’d come by to see her, but that can wait for a little while.
“Sure,” I grunt.
We settle on the couch. I sit on one end and she lays across it, putting her feet on my lap. Since I fixed up her blisters the other day, I figure this is a good opportunity to check on them. She watches me intently as I untie her laces and pull off her shoes. Her socks that say, “I love cats,” get discarded next. I notice she’s painted her toenails since the last time. They’re black and match her fingernails.
“Blisters healed up,” I say as I carefully inspect each foot.
“Guess I can go to work after all.”
“Where?”
“The bar near that diner,” she says with a shrug. “The guy keeps calling. I told him I didn’t have a ride. Today he said he’d come pick me up, but he’s kind of a creep so I don’t know if I feel comfortable with him knowing where I live.” Then she curses. “Ouch.”
I realize I’ve started absently massaging her foot and with vigor. “Sorry.” I gently push her feet out of my lap because this all feels too intimate. “Tell that guy you’re not working there. I’ll make sure you’re taken care of.”
She fishes her phone out of her pocket and her fingers fly over the screen as she texts. For dramatic effect, she reads it aloud as she types. “Sorry, dude. My baby daddy says I can’t work. Thanks anyway.”
“Glad we got that sorted,” I grumble. “Find us something to watch, woman.”
“Don’t tell me what to do,” she hisses back, but snatches the remote. “Funny or scary?”
“I need to laugh,” I tell her honestly. “I’m a little stressed lately.”
“Same.” She pushes her feet back into my lap. “Make yourself useful.”
I wake with a pain in my neck and my phone buzzing. It’s dark outside. What the fuck? I’m slumped over on the couch on my side, arm slung over the tiny woman beside me.
When I shift, she makes a moaning sound that has my cock coming alive.
“Abby,” I grumble. “We fell asleep.”
“Stop moving,” she complains. “You’re going to make me puke.”
I’m going to puke because there’s no doubt in my mind Angela has been blasting my phone wondering where I’m at. When I pull out my phone, I’m met with several missed calls and texts.
Angela: I thought you were coming over.
Angela: Are you okay?
Angela: Did I do something wrong? Are you mad at me?
Angela: I’m starting to worry that you’ve been in an accident. Call me back please.
Angela: If you’re alive and still want to be with me, we should consider sharing our location because this is stressful, Rhett.
Fuck. Fuck. Fuck.
“I have to call her,” I rasp out to Abby. “Just…don’t say anything.”
I dial Angela and she answers on the first ring.
“Rhett! What’s going on? Where are you?”
I scrub my palm over my face and note that it smells like Abby’s soap or lotion or whatever it is that makes her smell like honey and almonds. “I’m fine. Fell asleep over at Riko’s. Sorry, babe.”
Abby’s lip curls up and then she bolts off the couch. Relief floods through me. At least now Angela won’t overhear her sister.
“I see,” Angela says, voice sharper than I’ve ever heard it. “Glad to see I’m a priority.”
Irritation churns in my gut. “You are. I just crashed. I said I’m sorry.”
She makes me wait for a long beat. “Okay. I forgive you.”