Total pages in book: 86
Estimated words: 81375 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 407(@200wpm)___ 326(@250wpm)___ 271(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 81375 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 407(@200wpm)___ 326(@250wpm)___ 271(@300wpm)
“Me too,” she admits. “We don’t even know who we are. But then… maybe we do. Even if we don’t.” She presses her palm against my heart, which happens to be beating faster than the insanely inadvisable highest setting on an industrial mixer. “Maybe we know here.” Her eyes suddenly cloud over, and she winces. “Even if there are plenty of other things we don’t know. That’s my truth.”
“I haven’t done this in a long time. I might not be any good at it.”
“Yeah, well, me too.”
“I’m older than you,” I point out.
“Age is just part of the story. There’s so much more. So much more I want to give you. Will you forgive me for not telling you right now?”
I have no idea what she’s talking about, but the way her eyes well up is a kick straight to the chest. My heart squeezes viciously. “Only if you’re not telling me that you’ve been sent on a mission to have pity sex with me. I’d never live that down.”
“Never. I’ve never lost my mind like this over anyone. I don’t do this. It’s ironic that I usually have to know everything about someone before I can even find them attractive, but I wanted you before you even turned around, and then a thousand times more after you did. I’ve purposely never had casual sex before because I thought it was a good way to get hurt, but the only times I’ve been hurt haven’t been from doing that. It was from people who should have known better, who should have been kind, who should have guarded my heart, but didn’t.”
“Are you sure this is what you want?” I ask.
“I’m sure. Unless… is this what you want?”
“It is, but…” My hand hovers over hers.
“But it’s kind of crazy and complicated, and maybe we should know each other better first instead of banging like animals in the springtime right here in the middle of your kitchen where anyone could just walk right in?”
“I… maybe.” Maybe as in duh. What the fuck was I thinking?
Truly. What the ever-loving fuck?
“You’re right. There are things we should know about each other. Important things. Things I can’t justify not telling you any longer.”
That makes me nervous, and the taunting voice in the back of my head has a great time snarking me off. Here we go. This is the part where she tells you this was all some master plan, and there’s no way she would ever actually find you attractive with a face that looks like a grilled cheese sandwich.
Grilled cheese is delicious.
Fine. The pickles that are served on the side then. Old. Wrinkly. Ballsack-looking pickles.
If that’s the worst that is going to come into my head, then I’m all good. I’ve been through dark times and lots of pain and anxiety. The ballsack intrusive comment just makes me want to laugh.
Which I would do.
If Callie wasn’t climbing off of me, biting her lip, twisting her hands, and trembling.
She passes me my shirt and walks a few paces. Then, she turns around, her mouth doing a guppy fish impression that looks far more adorable than it sounds. She pivots again, her combat boot squeaking against the floor because the bottoms are non-slip. Before she can rotate again, I slip my suspenders down and get my shirt back on. I have it half buttoned before she paces back.
Fuck, I thought my anxiety was bad, but it’s nothing compared to the wild, cornered, trapped animal expression she’s sporting.
“I… I’m going to say something that’s going to make you angry. It’s probably going to hurt you too, and honestly, I didn’t give a shit about that before we met, but now that we have, I… I’m so sorry.”
My heart is currently doing a great were-bunny impression, bouncing all over my chest, racing up a hill, and getting ready to sprout slobbery fangs and howl at the moon.
Her eyes fill with tears, not because she’s playing this up, looking for sympathy, or trying to soften me. Her face twists with regret and shame, and I can tell she truly feels awful. Even if it’s not her intent, I do soften.
But if she waits another second longer to tell me whatever the heck it is that is so bad, I’m going to have a panic attack just watching her suffer.
“You have to promise me that you’ll hear me out. Please. It’s… it’s important.”
I used to say that to my parents whenever I’d done something really bad.
She hops up on the counter beside me and takes my hand. It’s an odd thing to do, to grasp onto me like I’m a lifeline. I don’t jerk my hand away. I close my fingers around hers, clasping them tightly together. She’s so close, and every time I breathe in, all her summery sweetness overwhelms me.