Total pages in book: 73
Estimated words: 69018 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 345(@200wpm)___ 276(@250wpm)___ 230(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 69018 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 345(@200wpm)___ 276(@250wpm)___ 230(@300wpm)
He looks…good.
Fuck it, he looks amazing.
He’s wearing his usual boots and black fatigues that indicate he’s working, but the T-shirt is just a regular charcoal grey without any writing on it. I say it’s regular, but with the way it’s stretched tight across his broad, muscled chest, as if the seams are going to pop and unravel at any second, it’s anything but bland. As is the forearm porn he has going on.
It has been two months, and his hair has grown out a little, but it’s just that. Either it’s styled like he has a great barber who works miracles with low-maintenance perfection, or he’s been finger-raking it for the past hour. His skin is also a few shades darker than I remember, but the tan suits him. He’s got a golden glow that fits well with his dark stubble, and it frames his eyes.
I have a moment of internal meltdown before I pick the totes back up and make like I want to get on my bus.
Because I do.
“Can I…” I indicate the door with a nod.
“Yes. Sure.” He steps aside, but not far enough that I can shut the door in his face. Not that I will, but he’s clearly not taking any chances.
He lets me step on and then turn around. I could tell him that I didn’t want to talk. That we said everything that could be said two months ago. That orgasms are just meh and entirely overrated, but I wouldn’t mind if he gave me another entirely overrated one to the tune of holy meh, that was the best meh moment I’ve ever had in my life.
Of course I won’t say that.
Or that my pussy misses him.
Or that I still dream and think about him.
Or that I’ve tried to minimize regret and damage by moving forward, and I hope he’s done the same.
That would be crazy talk, and crazy talk should be reserved for full moon energy. We’re not nearly there yet. It’s half-full at best.
I’m not going to invite Thorn onto the bus, but I can’t just leave him out there. Should I be a good host and offer him a drink? Should I make him stand outside the door while he drinks it, and I sit on the stairs like a guard dog?
Peach Lips jumps off her cat post and meows at me. She threads herself through my ankles, jumps onto the driver seat, and swipes her paw in the air, reaching for me. I scratch her head and chin and then duck down so I’m at eye level with Thorn.
“What are you doing here?”
“I brought you something.” He takes an envelope out of his pocket, hesitates for a second, and sets it on the bottom step of the bus.
“What is it?”
“A check for one million dollars.”
“Oh my god!” I nearly fall over. Sitting down would be a good idea. I park it right on the stairs, glaring at him. “Why on earth would you come here with that?”
“I thought if I mailed it, you’d tear it up.”
“You thought right. Ugh, you can’t just buy someone.” He remains impassive—damn him and his perfect nothing resting face. It makes my frown get frownier. “Why would you want to buy me anyway?”
“It’s compensation. I calculated what Peach Lips is worth, what those shows would have brought in, and the revenue you’ve had to give up since Pissgate and the tasing incident that was never going to happen. It would very likely be a million dollars for the year or the next year, so I want to give that to you.”
I don’t want to get mad about this, but it’s hard. The shows are going to be a sore spot for a long time, but not because of this man. “You didn’t do anything to wreck anything. And I can’t believe you named it Pissgate, by the way.”
“It seemed to be the most fitting name right from the start.”
“We both know you were never going to do anything except stop the kids from wrecking the booth. Whatever else people have assumed, it’s because they’re mean, and going online gives them a platform to get some satisfaction out of doing that. The rescue community, unfortunately, isn’t always a great place. People don’t support each other the way they should. You’d think it would be the opposite, but that’s a fantasy, and it’s so freaking unfortunate that it is. The shows didn’t want me back, and it’s not your fault. People ganged up on me and said I was trying to pull a fast one or disappear and come back like everything was okay, and changing my image wasn’t going to cause anyone to forget the truth that I have bad judgment and that Peach Lips deserves better. It’s just meanness.
“Unfortunately, it was infectious. I was super hurt and sad and angry about it for a week, and then I realized people can say what they feel they need to say, but it doesn’t make it true, and it’s not an accurate reflection of who I am. It’s not on you either. You tried your best. Your marketing team made the most beautiful profiles and changes and a new website, and all the free merch they gave me…it was all so beautiful.” I watch him carefully as I empty out all the air in my lungs with that epic monologue. “Long story short, I’m okay. If you want to get rid of a million for compensation, then compensate the people who are missing the money. The animal charities that Peach Lips donated to.”