Total pages in book: 72
Estimated words: 68308 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 342(@200wpm)___ 273(@250wpm)___ 228(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 68308 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 342(@200wpm)___ 273(@250wpm)___ 228(@300wpm)
"The way you kiss me…" I touch my lips. I've read about these kinds of kisses, but to have one for yourself is a whole other experience. I would have called them made up in the past. I would have insisted that kissing doesn't make your knees weak and your heart flutter. That writers exaggerate, but damn, was I wrong.
“I kiss you like I mean it.”
“I know.” I can’t deny that.
“Come on. I got you food, and my sister gave me some stuff for you.” He leads me back over to the tray of food. There is garlic bread, salad, and lasagna. You can’t forget the sandwich that stands out from the other food.
“You made me a peanut butter and strawberry sandwich?” That is freaking sweet as hell. He really has been paying attention to me.
“In case you don’t like the lasagna, I figure the sandwich is a safe bet since you eat them every day.”
Before I can think better of it, I turn my head toward him and rise on my tiptoes to kiss his cheek, but he turns his head, stealing a kiss. Okay, it's not stealing because I kiss him right back.
"All right." He breaks the kiss. "Eat before I do things you're not ready for." I lick my lips as I sit down on one of the chairs, feeling dazed. How does he do that to my head? I forget about everything else but the moment we're in. “You check in with this Mary?”
“Yeah, I told her I was staying with a friend.”
“And this Mary is good with it?” Good with it? She was excited.
It was a reminder that maybe I don’t have the biggest social life. I get along with everyone. You have to if you want information from them, but I fly solo most of the time, and I’m not sure why I do. Is it me? That’s why people don’t try to get closer? It’s a depressing thought I don’t want to get into. Today has been heavy enough.
“I mean, I am eighteen.” I pick up one of the cans of soda and take a sip. “Mary kind of manages our house, and I guess me too.” She comes for a few hours each day. “She’s the one who would notice if I wasn’t home. Your parents would notice, wouldn’t they?”
“Not much that they don’t notice.” Jax pushes the tray closer to me before grabbing one of the plates. “Your parents are doctors. Sure it keeps them busy.”
“Their hours can be crazy, and they love what they do.” Sometimes, I think that’s all they love. Then I remind myself that my situation could be a lot worse. There are people starving and homeless in the world. I shouldn’t complain.
“Not everyone should have children.” His comment catches me off guard.
“What do you mean? Not that you're wrong. There are a lot of people that shouldn’t have kids, but I’m pretty dang privileged compared to a lot of other people out there.”
“Not saying you’re not, but don’t have kids if you don’t have the time for them. You have to love your kids more than your job.”
“They’re saving lives,” I say defensively. I mean, I can give them a hard time about being absent, but it’s hard to hear the truth from someone else.
“They would hire more doctors. They’re not the only ones.”
“I’m also eighteen. They don’t need to be underfoot.”
“Kinsley.” He cocks his head to the side, and I can tell this conversation irritates him, but he’s not wrong.
“Okay, they have kind of always been that way, but whatever. It doesn’t matter.”
“You’re right, it doesn’t.” He stabs the lasagna with his fork. “I’m here now, but I won’t be underfoot; I’ll be all over your ass.” I almost spit out my drink.
“Shut up.” I laugh. “Can we not talk about my parents?”
“We can talk about anything you like,” he offers.
“Really?”
“Hit me and let’s see.” I pick up my own plate. I never pass up an opportunity to get information, and this time is no different. There are so many questions floating through my mind when it comes to Jax and the Marino family as a whole.
“You like doing trades. You give, I give. Like we did today.”
“You want to trade questions?”
“Could be fun.”
“All right, your game, you go first.” I take a bite of my lasagna, which is really fucking good. It might be better than Mary’s. I ponder my first question. I don’t want to waste a single one.
“Your uncle,” I start, gauging his reaction, but he doesn’t have one. He simply takes a bite of his food, so I keep going. “Ronan, are the rumors true about him? Does he really cut people's eyes out and torture them? I mean, it sounds insane, and you know how people like to spin rumors.”
“Rumors often come from truths. A seed at least.” Whoa, hold on here. Jax's honesty takes me by surprise, and it probably shouldn’t.