Total pages in book: 94
Estimated words: 92371 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 462(@200wpm)___ 369(@250wpm)___ 308(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 92371 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 462(@200wpm)___ 369(@250wpm)___ 308(@300wpm)
Murphy forces a smile, and it feels like pure pity. “I don’t think it was you after all. Sorry.”
His manufactured response tugs and tears at the threads of my soul. This isn’t how it was supposed to be. “I guess I must have a familiar face,” I say.
This man could send me spiraling. I should resign and run. Nothing good can come from spending the summer this close to each other. My facade will break or his pity will diminish, leaving him with nothing but an uncontrolled need to demand answers.
“Well, I guess I’ll see you around,” I say.
Despite his effort to look unaffected, I don’t miss his tiny flinch. “Yeah,” he murmurs.
Under his watchful gaze, I exit the back door.
One breath. Two breaths.
One step. Two steps.
When I’m behind the hedges, I sprint to the guesthouse.
“Hey!”
I gasp, slapping a hand over my heart when Callen grabs my wrist before I reach the door.
“What’s wrong?” he asks, eyes narrowed.
I shake my head a half dozen times. “Nothing,” I say through labored breaths.
“Why were you running?” He chuckles, turning his baseball cap around for a kiss while walking me backward into the door.
He’s here for sex. That’s our relationship. Callen is divorced, and he has two kids and a demanding job. Sex is all he’s looking for. And I’m emotionally empty most days, so sex works for me.
“How did you know I’d be done so early?” I ask as he kisses my neck.
“I didn’t. I was going to make dinner and surprise you.”
“Excuse me?” I push him away and grin. “You were going to make me dinner?”
“Yes. Occasionally, I can be thoughtful.” He hooks his arm around my waist again and continues kissing my neck. “It’s so fucked up that they make you wear this church dress. When you sent me that picture, I thought you were joking.”
I giggle. “I like the dress. What’s messed up is they hired some sought-after landscaping guru to give his thoughts on redoing the north side of the house. I saw the bill. They paid fifteen thousand dollars just for his opinion.”
“Fucking rich people.” He opens the door behind me, and we stumble into the single level house with hickory wood floors and modern furnishings, a smaller version of the main house.
I lose both shoes before we pass the sofa.
“Don’t you want a tour first?” I mumble between kisses.
Callen partially unbuttons the front of my dress, kissing the swell of my breasts by the time we reach the hallway.
“Kitchen. Hall. Bedroom,” he says. “Got it.”
We make it two more steps before his jeans are unfastened, one more step before my underwear dangles around one ankle. And then he’s inside me.
I toss his hat to the floor, rubbing a hand over his buzzed, blond hair before closing my eyes and clawing at his firm backside as he pins me to the wall.
Then … I think of Murphy Paddon.
Callen Langston coaches lacrosse at the university, is obsessed with true crime podcasts, and knows a freakish amount of random information. He’s fun and easy. I’ve never met his kids, but when I mention them, he beams with fatherly pride.
After dropping out of college my junior year, spending fourteen months in a mental hospital, and seven years working odd jobs to find inspiration, I’ve given up on love and a successful career. But I take great joy in other people’s lives.
Some people are participants. Others, like me, are spectators.
“What was that about?” Callen asks as we put our clothes back on.
I exchange my dress for shorts and a tank top. “What was what all about?”
“Sex with you has been good, really good.” His cheeks flush as he buttons his jeans. “But that was next-level.”
I pull the tank top over my head. “I don’t know. When you said you were here early to make me dinner, it just …”
“Made you horny?” he chuckles.
“Something like that.” I grab his shirt and kiss him. “When are you going to Disney?” I pad my bare feet into the kitchen for an orange Olipop soda.
“Next week. Are you good with it?”
I pop the top of the can. “I think it’s cool that you and your ex get along well enough to take the kids on vacation together.”
“Lindee and Hawley.”
I narrow my eyes. “Huh?”
“You never say my kids’ names. My daughter is Lindee. She’s five, and my son is Hawley. He’s seven. You always refer to them just as kids.”
“Thought we were keeping it casual.” I sip my drink.
“Alice, do you not like kids?”
“I like them.” I chuckle.
“If I were standing in line for something, I could easily strike up a conversation with a stranger, and it could lead to me revealing my kids’ names and ages. I’m not asking you to meet them or be their godmother.” Callen laughs, filling a glass with water.
“Lindee and Hawley are great names.”