Total pages in book: 128
Estimated words: 121210 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 606(@200wpm)___ 485(@250wpm)___ 404(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 121210 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 606(@200wpm)___ 485(@250wpm)___ 404(@300wpm)
My throat feels thick, but I force the truth through it anyway. He deserves to know, and I deserve to let myself feel it.
“I…I do love you, Clay. I love you so much it scares me.”
“That’s an oxymoron, baby,” he says with the kind of smile I feel all the way to my toes. “I promise, if you let me love you the way I want to love you, you don’t have anything to be afraid of.”
I nod, just once. It’s all I manage before he swoops in and scoops me up into his arms, swinging me around and sealing his lips to mine.
It’s everything I’ve dreamed of and beyond, and I don’t know if I even saw it coming. I love Clay Harris all the way into my bones. I love Clay Harris in a way that doesn’t stop. Ever.
His excitement is contagious as he sets me down and pulls out two plastic-wrapped toothbrushes.
“You already have the damn toothbrushes?” I ask, laughter vibrating my chest.
“Damn straight, babe.” The handsome bastard winks. “Now, let’s go get set up.”
Clay Harris is mine. Officially. And I don’t know if I’ve ever felt so lucky in my life.
After The Moment: Part 2
The “How Has It Already Been Five Years?” Reality
15
Clay
Saturday, July 31st
I pace the alley behind The Country Club and check my watch again, only getting more pissed off when I see what time it is.
I’ve been waiting for an hour for Bennett to show up here with the beer kegs I need to be ready for the afternoon rush, and if he doesn’t get here soon, before I open, the guys who come here when they get off at Phelps are going to riot. In their world, a hard day’s labor ends with a beer, a ball game, and a home-cooked meal at home, in that order.
It sounds barbarian and a little sexist, but I assure you, these guys are the salt of the earth and the best humans you’ll ever meet. If their wives are cooking for them, it’s because they want to.
Still, they have a routine, and I’m a carefully crafted part of it. If it weren’t for my damn father’s quarterly check-in call, I would have gotten them myself. Instead, I spent two hours making up facts about green pitch and fairway length and ended the call with a false promise for a future tour of the pro shop. Yeah, my dad still thinks The Country Club is, in fact, a country club.
We’re going on a decade of this charade, and it’s honestly just become comical at this point. I mean, I don’t need his money. Hell, I don’t even need my trust fund. Red Bridge keeps my watering hole in steady enough cash flow to live comfortably. I could quite literally tell my father to eat shit and be fine.
It also helps that my view of money and how much you actually need to enjoy your life is vastly different from the way I was raised. I have Red Bridge to thank for that.
Which begs the question, why do I even keep up with the lies to my father? I guess there’s a masochistic side of me that wants to see how long he’ll continue to be the surface-level dad he’s been since the day I was born. His follow-through when it comes to me is statistically zero-in-a-million. He’s never put in more effort than a phone call in the ten years I’ve been here, and I can pretty much guarantee he never will.
A glint of sun catches my attention as Bennett’s truck finally rounds the corner into the alley, and I let out a huge, relieved breath at the sight.
“Hi, honey,” Bennett greets, climbing out of his truck with an annoying smirk and slamming the door behind him. “I’m home.”
“What the hell, man?” I ask, still annoyed that he’s had me out here pacing my ass off without even so much as a phone call. “What took you so long?”
“Relax.” He opens the tailgate, and I help him roll the first keg to the back of the bed and out. “I had to make a few pit stops.”
“Pit stops?” I scoff. “You said you’d be here over an hour ago.” We each grab one handled end of the keg and carry it toward the bar, waddling funny, thanks to the weird distribution of weight.
“You do realize I’m here because I’m doing you a favor, right?” he says in a tone I know is supposed to be snide. But I’ve done this fucker enough favors to last a lifetime, so he can suck my dick.
“Where were you?”
“I had to make sure Josie Ellis’s sister made it to her house and get gas.”
“What did you just say?” I ask, freezing completely and yanking Bennett to a stop as my heart kicks up to a fucking gallop at the mention of her name. It doesn’t matter that it’s been almost five fucking years since we split up at this point. You never get over the love of your life. Period. “You were at Josie’s?”