Total pages in book: 79
Estimated words: 75289 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 376(@200wpm)___ 301(@250wpm)___ 251(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 75289 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 376(@200wpm)___ 301(@250wpm)___ 251(@300wpm)
Irene pops into the background, grinning widely. This is probably the most entertainment she’s had in a good while.
“I’m hanging up now. Let the record show two point oh that you’re impossible.”
“Impossibly awesome!” At least this time, she tones the cackle into a laugh. “I love you. Get your tush back here soon and bring that man so he can experience some proper granny hugs. There’s not a lady in this place who wouldn’t hug a man as fine as Warrick. If he wants grandpa hugs, those can also be arranged. For free. Or rides in his sportscar.”
“Goodbye. I’m pressing the red button. Right now.”
“Don’t forget to give me an update,” Granny chirps.
“Absolutely not. Love you. Bye.”
The conversation might have been wild and wildly inappropriate, but I’m glad I had it. I might not feel a hundred percent better or the least bit certain, but I did need to hear that I’m not going to a special brand of hell for being interested in my older, charming, intriguing, hot-as-an-incinerator, ex’s dad, boss.
Shit, that’s a lot.
Ex’s dad and boss are too much.
Can I really do this? Do I have any right to?
I can practically hear Granny asking me what right I don’t have. She’d give me the old-timey there’s nothing you can’t do if you put your mind to it pep talk.
My mind is definitely to it. I’ve done nothing but think about Warrick’s soft eyes, his surprise and hope every single time I do something nice for him, how it felt to hug him and be there for him when he needed it, and how his lips felt so deliciously and painfully right against mine. He was sweet and scared when he kissed me, but the way he charged into the backyard and asked me to stay wasn’t shy in the least.
Just thinking about his lips on mine sends me into a lowkey tailspin that ends with my ovaries aching, my va-jay throbbing, and my nipples trying to go into full-on slasher mode in my tank top.
All of it just brings me back to the same two questions I’ve had playing in my brain on repeat since this morning.
How can I do this?
How can I not?
Chapter thirteen
Warrick
Imeant to have that talk with Amalphia yesterday, but I got home just before eleven, which was insane. It was far later than I’d even anticipated. To say I was bagged would be doing an injustice to bags all over, but I truly was. Paper fucking bagged, reusable bagged, garbage bagged, all the bags. I found dinner in the fridge with a note.
Get some rest, War. Oh, and warm up this stir-fry for two minutes. If you go longer, it turns to rubber, and if it’s shorter, it’ll be cold in spots, and no one wants cold veggies.
She’d written a happy face emoji underneath.
I ate, showered, fell into bed, and was pretty much asleep instantly.
Then, I pulled myself out of bed at four this morning just to do it all over again.
It’s not possible to keep up this pace, but I feel like even a month straight wouldn’t be enough.
I’ve thought about quitting before and starting my own company or just spending my time doing something I love, but the threat of parental disapproval has always kept me in check. Family. You don’t get to choose them, and in my parents’ case, they’d make my life a nightmare, the likes of which would paint Candice in the sweetest of saintly glows.
I did send Amalphia a text around noon today, when I took a ten-minute lunch break, telling her that I was sorry I got home late and left early. I truly wasn’t trying to avoid the conversation. She responded back almost immediately, telling me it was fine. I hate that word. A few seconds later, she seemed to remember that and gave me the it’s all good, truly, truly, three thumbs-up text that made me smile like a tool bag.
My god, if Amalphia asked me to write her poetry, I’d probably give it a go just because it would make her smile and laugh, and I’d do just about anything to see and hear more of that.
As I pull into the garage now, near eight, I wince at the time. I meant to leave earlier, but then paperwork, paperwork, and more paperwork happened.
Happened as in, it was already there, and I got sucked in, chewed up, and spat out by it, all without feeling like I was making a dent.
Amalphia has been so mature and understanding, and when I looked at my watch and realized it was already seven, and I still had to get home, I knew I could only push it so far. She hasn’t gotten mad or thrown anything in my face, and she hasn’t demanded attention. She’s been quietly confident and understanding, as always, but how long before she feels like I’m taking advantage?