Total pages in book: 77
Estimated words: 75450 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 377(@200wpm)___ 302(@250wpm)___ 252(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 75450 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 377(@200wpm)___ 302(@250wpm)___ 252(@300wpm)
But I let her dream out loud as she boiled pasta water and I threw together a salad. I was not in the dream-killing business. Not when it came to my sister. If she wanted to take over the whole backyard in tomato and basil plants and start her own artisanal pasta sauce company, I’d be right there with her.
Besides, when she was making plans like that, she really didn’t need much input from me other than the occasional sound of agreement. And I was in no shape to carry on a full conversation about something else.
Because a man who I’d attempted to murder the night before had shown up at my house with vague threats that somehow didn’t sound serious and questions. Then just… left when I told him to.
What was that about?
Was he just waiting until the house was quiet to sneak in and kill me? Slit my throat in my bed? Suffocate me with my own pillow?
I hadn’t realized I’d made a whimpering sound until Sofia looked over. “You okay?”
“Yep. Almost took my fingertip off,” I lied.
“Are you sure you’re all right? You’ve been a little off today. Did you and Rune have a fight?”
“Sort of.”
“Do you want to talk about it? I know, I know, you’re not a talker. Not about your own life and feelings. But I know it’s been forever since you’ve had a man in your life. And we both know I am more of a pro. So… we can talk about it.”
If by ‘pro’ she meant that every guy she met ended up half in love with her, then became borderline obsessed with her, then yes, yes, she was. Even the guys she dated got a little too into her. Which was usually why things ended. She started to feel suffocated with their attention and affection and needed to call things off so she could breathe again.
I, on the other hand, was not the sort who men fell in love with through one short glance. Which, yes, we could blame on my resting bitch face. But, like, why would you try to hit on me when I’m pulling my underwear out of the washing machine at the laundromat, you freak? I liked to think my RBF kept the creeps away.
It also, you know, kept all men away.
There was a flaw in the system.
It usually didn’t bother me, being single. I had a busy work life. I enjoyed spending time with my sister, who didn’t mind if I showed up to watch a movie in her room with a mud mask on my face and a giant mixing bowl full of popcorn, then talked through half of it because we’d seen it a thousand times before.
The only time I ever felt something even akin to loneliness was when Sofia was getting more serious about one of her admirers and spending time at his place instead of ours. Or, worse, when they were at our place being all lovey-dovey, inadvertently reminding me that no one called me ‘beautiful’ or ‘baby’ in more months than I cared to admit.
God, it wasn’t even months anymore. It was well over a year.
Rune called you baby, a traitorous little voice at the back of my head whispered.
He had.
Several times.
Even with a knife to my throat, I would never admit that each time he did it, it sent a little shiver through me.
Why did the guy I’d been hating for over a year have to be so damn handsome?
“I don’t really want to talk about it. It wasn’t a big deal.”
“A big enough deal that he left…”
“He has a life too, you know,” I said, making my tone lighter, more playful, so she’d stop looking at me with that frown between her brows.
“Sure. Guys have lives. But they don’t usually skedaddle back to them without taking you up to bed first.”
“Who said he didn’t?”
“Did he?” Sofia’s eyes went bright as she reached for the box of spaghetti.
“I don’t ask you about your sex life, perv,” I said, tossing a cherry tomato at her.
“Fine. Leave me in the dark. I mean, a man with that much charm has to be great in bed. So congratulations on the awesome sex you refuse to tell me about.” She turned to toss the pasta in the pot, then rummaged around for a carving fork she always used to mix the spaghetti so it didn’t stick together. “He’s insanely beautiful.”
He might balk at being called ‘beautiful,’ but I couldn’t disagree with her on that.
“And he’s protective, which is hot.”
“What do you mean he’s protective?”
“I was telling him about the bullies at school and he said he would have beaten up anyone who did that to his little sister.”
“How long was he here before I got home?”
“I don’t know. Fifteen or twenty minutes, maybe.”
“And you managed to talk about your childhood trauma in that time?”