Total pages in book: 137
Estimated words: 128307 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 642(@200wpm)___ 513(@250wpm)___ 428(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 128307 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 642(@200wpm)___ 513(@250wpm)___ 428(@300wpm)
“So you’re saying you’ve changed? You matured out of the game?”
Game? Being accused of cheating every second day isn’t a game. It fractured the foundation of our relationship every time she accused me, and at one stage, I almost called it quits.
“Yeah… I’ve matured.” I almost ask, Have you? But I stay silent when the alarm on my Apple Watch goes off. I set an hourly timer to make sure Macy remains hydrated as she approaches the last weeks of her pregnancy.
Desperate for a breather, I tell Cameron I’ll be back in a minute before I remove a dirty glass from a stack of many, clean it, fill it with water, and then enter the living room.
“Here.” I hand Macy the glass of water with too much aggression for her not to notice. Her brows furrow with concern that blazes through her impressive eyes. After a quick apology, hating that I’m taking my frustration out on the wrong person—again—I say, “All the forums say dehydration could lead to complications during birth, so you should remain hydrated.”
She takes the glass with a doubtful look, and although she doesn’t interrogate me, I know a million questions are swirling in her head. Not only does she want to know why she has nowhere to put down the glass, she is also curious how things are going between Cameron and me.
“It’s good,” I lie. “We’re good. You?”
She joins me on the long and lonely ride to Lie-ville. “I’m great.”
I’m tempted to remind her of the promise she made only days ago, but since that will open a can of worms I can’t consider wrapping my head around just yet, I shift the course of our conversation. “Dinner shouldn’t be too far away. It smells almost burned. Charcoal is Cameron’s specialty.”
Macy laughs before she shoots up her hand to cover her mouth, horrified at her snarkiness.
I wink at her to assure that it is warranted before I return to the kitchen.
Cameron is stirring the sauce on the stovetop. The sloshing of her overzealous stirs cannot conceal her angry mumble. “I guess I assumed wrong. Picking up another man’s unpaid tab a regular thing for you now, Gray?”
She steals my ability to answer by announcing that dinner is ready before she slaps the table with the pasta dish she made, spilling some of the sauce.
Dinner is awkward as fuck. Cameron plays the role of perfect hostess, but it’s just that—a role. She asks Macy a range of questions and laughs at the right times, but a ton of hate fills her eyes, and they’re firmly homed in on Macy.
I can’t stand that. Macy hasn’t done anything wrong. She’s the only one rooting for us, so doesn’t Cameron realize that wedging a divide between us is injudicious and immature? No good will come from it. Not for Cameron, anyway.
When it’s time for dessert, I get another reminder from my watch. I fill Macy’s glass again and hand it to her with an apologetic smirk. She rolls her eyes like my apology is solely about overloading her bladder before she sips on the water. Even without using words, she’s a horrible liar.
Eager to get this shitshow wrapped up, I enter the kitchen to gather the pie and plates. I find Cameron at the sink, rubbing her bloodshot eye.
“Are you all right?” My concern feels fake, and I hate to admit it, but it’s time to be honest. I’ve been lying for too long.
Cameron blinks in rapid succession before wincing. “I’ve got something in my eye. An eyelash, maybe.”
“Let me see,” I say, moving closer.
She’s too short for me to get a good look, so I lift her onto the kitchen island. Her girlish giggle bounces around the kitchen before she angles her head toward the pendant light dangling above us. We’re close—closer than we’ve been all night. But there’s no spark. No thickening below the belt. There’s nothing.
“I think I see it,” I say, needing to distract my head from its thoughts.
My hunt for the felonious black lash in the corner of her eye brings our faces to within an inch apart. Her breath batters my cheek, and I can’t miss the flecks of gold in her eyes. We’re so near that someone outside of our bubble could misconstrue what we’re doing.
Which is precisely what happens when a loud crash reverberates from the kitchen’s entryway. I inch back from Cameron before twisting to face the noise. Macy is standing barefoot in the entryway, surrounded by shards of glass glistening in the dim light of the hallway.
“I’m so sorry.” Her voice is shaky. It isn’t in fear or pain. Well, not physical pain, anyway. “It slipped.” Her wet eyes dance between us for two heart-thrashing seconds before she asks Cameron where her dustpan and hand broom are so she can clean up her mess.