Total pages in book: 120
Estimated words: 121887 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 609(@200wpm)___ 488(@250wpm)___ 406(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 121887 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 609(@200wpm)___ 488(@250wpm)___ 406(@300wpm)
Oh my God.
He was kinda-sorta my man.
My phone stopped ringing.
“I’m gonna pay for that,” I muttered.
“You’ll be okay,” he replied.
He didn’t know my mother.
Five minutes later, we swung into his townhome complex.
One minute after that, we were in his townhome.
He moved around, turning on the few lamps he had (another mental note: along with the throw blanket, I needed to ask Javi if he was okay with me buying him some lamps—there was a standing one at West Elm that overarched and had an acrylic balloon shade that would look killer—I also needed to discuss an armchair with him, since every man needed an armchair).
Thinking these thoughts, I threw my bag on the kitchen island.
“Got beer,” Javi said, moving to the kitchen. “Got you some wine. Which one you want?”
“You bought me wine?” I asked, touched yet again by Javi being thoughtful.
“Noticed you liked it,” he muttered.
I was still mildly annoyed at him about our conversation in the truck, and now I was more annoyed with him because he made it so hard to retain hold on annoyed.
“Wine,” I said.
He went to the bottle of red I now noted was sitting on the counter by the fridge, marring his pristine, no-one-lives-here-nor-ever-has vision of his kitchen.
Man, we really needed to get down to our talk.
However, it was Friday, and on Fridays (as with most evenings), after work, I usually liked to take a quick shower, lotion up with my lavender-scented lotion and put a comfy lounge outfit on.
Conundrum.
Jess and Shanti had packed a couple of lounge outfits for me.
But Javi said this was our Friday night date, and even if it, too, was weird, since it was pizza at his place where he thought I was platonically spending the night (though, I hoped we made out a little), it was definitely a date this time. And you didn’t wear a lounge outfit on a date.
You also didn’t shower and put on a lounge outfit if you wanted to convince your date to let you pack your stuff and move home after it.
But my lounge outfits were super comfy.
You see my dilemma.
I hadn’t come up with an answer before the doorbell rang.
Javi was pulling out the cork on the bottle, and his attention went to the door. Mine did too.
I heard the cork pop before I heard the bottle hit the counter and turned back to Javi as he said, “Pizza’s here,” while moving to the door.
I rounded the island into the kitchen to find a wineglass (if he had one, just a glass-glass if he didn’t) and open a beer for him when I heard him state angrily, “How many fucking times do I have to tell you, this is not gonna happen.”
My gaze raced that way, and at my angle, I could see a man standing outside Javi’s door.
He was huge, like Javi, though older and blond.
But I knew instantly it was Javi’s ex-NFL dad.
The dad who had created a new definition of deadbeat, leaving his son and ex-lover to go it alone on the streets.
I saw the direct lineage through the clean, square, perfect cut of the man’s strong jaw, the straight, exquisite line of his handsome nose, the high faultless angle of his cheekbones, the strong flawless ridge of his brow, all of this he gave to Javi.
Javi’s coloring came from his Latina mom.
The rest was all his dad.
All of it.
Including his tall, muscular body.
Whoa.
“Son, I have—” the man began.
“I’m not your fuckin’ son,” Javi interrupted him with such venom, I felt his fangs sink into me all the way across his townhouse.
And that poison was so potent, it instantly turned my blood ice cold.
“You have a brother and two sisters,” the man said.
“You had one of those kids on the way when you cheated on your wife with my ma and left her and me swinging in the breeze.”
“I made a mistake.”
Wait.
Hang on.
What?
Oh no, he did not.
A mistake?
He characterized what he did as a mistake?
Suddenly, my blood was boiling.
“Fuck yeah, you did,” Javi returned.
“I’d like a chance to make amends.”
“Yeah, you’ve said that. And I’ve told you to go fuck yourself.”
“Javi—”
That was when Javi lost it.
“Do you have any fuckin’ clue what our lives were like?” he roared.
The man winced.
I moved.
Fast.
“It kills me—” the man started but cut himself off when he caught sight of my approach.
“It kills you?” Javi asked. He then drawled sarcastically, “I feel bad for you, man, since I get you, seeing as we barely survived day-to-day.”
Javi’s body jerked when I made it to him and put my hand on his back, and I knew then how mad he was, because no way did anyone approach Javier Montoya and take him by surprise.
His head tipped down to look at me.
“I’m intruding,” the man muttered.
I turned my attention to Javi’s dad.
“Yes,” I replied. “You are.”