Total pages in book: 117
Estimated words: 115683 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 578(@200wpm)___ 463(@250wpm)___ 386(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 115683 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 578(@200wpm)___ 463(@250wpm)___ 386(@300wpm)
Nope, nope, nope. That’s basically all he said last night.
What an asshole.
An angry, sometimes gentle, deliciously handsome asshole. Who just so happens to be a great dad, because his son is an absolute delight to hang out with.
Also. Colton saw—heard—my vibrator. And he was actually kinda nice about it when he could’ve been a real dick.
A renewed sense of shame sweeps through me.
I attempt to talk myself off the ledge. Everybody masturbates. You’re allowed to have orgasms.
But then it hits me that Colton probably only helped calm me down because he had a momentary lapse of consciousness hearing my, ahem, toy do its thing.
He’ll come to his senses. I have no doubt I’m in for some off-color innuendo whenever I see him next. Which hopefully will be never.
It’s dark outside the apartment’s steel windows. I set my alarm extra early today because I have a task list about a mile long.
I need to get some real work done today. I’ve been sketching out lots of ideas over the past couple weeks, and I want to do a little more research before I finalize the options for logo designs I’ll present down the road.
I also need to land on a new name for the ranch. I keep coming back to Ulysses and Uma. They’re clearly legendary characters. The founders of a dynasty that has prospered in a way that’d make any couple proud.
I also need to work on my cover letter. Come up with some ideas for what my next move will be. Do I pivot to marketing firms? Seek out some kind of start-up situation? Am I open to moving outside Texas if I wanted to consider, say, tech or fashion?
I’m not sure how I feel about moving. I’ve spent my entire life in the Lone Star State. While I’d love to experience something new, I know I’ll miss my family and my friends. And the food. And the glorious winters.
Speaking of my family, I have to call Mom. We haven’t talked since I arrived on the ranch. We’ve texted here and there, but we keep missing each other’s calls.
This is a long time for us not to catch up.
I need to throw a load of laundry into the brand-new washer I discovered behind a door in the kitchen. Get in some exercise too…
Ugh.
I throw on a sweatshirt and slippers and pad out to the kitchen. The Wallaces’ home was lovely. Cozy and comfortable and modest, just like Dale and Paige.
I think that’s why I was so surprised when I walked into this apartment last night. It’s sexy, with soaring ceilings and walls paneled in light oak. Huge windows overlook nearby pastures, and the kitchen and bathroom have clearly been renovated recently. They shine with luxe brass finishes and plenty of marble.
In short, the apartment is a modern stunner with a decidedly rustic twist. I squealed when I first saw it last night, and I squeal again when I see an electric kettle on the counter. Beside it is a box of Earl Grey tea.
Colton Wallace may be a dick, but his parents are the kindest, most thoughtful hosts ever.
A ham and pimento cheese quiche awaits me in the fridge, complete with a note from Paige. I gushed over her homemade pimento cheese the other day, so she must’ve whipped me up something for this week’s breakfasts with that in mind.
My throat closes in. At my parents’ house, I feel like I’m always taking care of everyone else, including my mom. It’s really nice to be the one taken care of for a change.
I devour a huge wedge of quiche and sip my hot tea in peace at the café table in the kitchen. Funny that I feel like I need to earn my keep at home, while at the Wallace Ranch—where I’m literally an employee—I don’t feel like I need to earn anything at all. Hospitality, kindness, help—it’s all given freely.
My stomach knots in frustration. I love my parents, and I really do wish them well. But so much of our dynamic is fucked up. If I’m being honest, I’m enjoying being so far away from it all.
The mystery that is Colton notwithstanding.
My phone rings, shattering the silence. I glance at the screen and see that it’s Mom.
Speak of the devil.
Not like my mother is the devil by any means. But I was enjoying my absurdly delicious breakfast, and I always like to finish my tea before I start the day.
I guess I could send her to voicemail. But we do need to catch up. And what if she needs me? This is kinda early for her to call. Maybe she and Dad got into another fight.
Sighing, I slide my thumb over the screen and pick up the phone. “Hey, Mom.”
“Hi, Lainey. How’s it going?”
“It’s going all right. Is everything okay?”