Total pages in book: 99
Estimated words: 94883 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 474(@200wpm)___ 380(@250wpm)___ 316(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 94883 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 474(@200wpm)___ 380(@250wpm)___ 316(@300wpm)
“When we’re not fighting,” I cut in.
“When you’re not fighting the vibes,” he counters.
“Maybe I just don’t understand the vibes, Parker.” The words tumble out, propelled by beer and the stress of keeping them in. “You’re funny and kind and hot and successful and literally drove through a building to save my life. You’re basically perfect, and I’m…” I shrug. “I’m me.”
“Talented? Brave? Also funny and kind and hot?”
“A hot mess,” I counter. “An almost thirty-four-year-old hot mess who’s starting over for the third time with basically nothing to show for years of working her ass off, who can’t even read an insurance policy properly.”
“Hey. You’re not a hot mess.” His hand comes up to cup my cheek. “You’re a cold mess that’s well on your way to congealing and being much easier to clean up.”
I snort, smiling despite myself. “Thanks.”
“You’re welcome.” His hand slides down to curl around the back of my neck, sending impure thoughts dancing through my head. “You’ve had some bad luck, no doubt, but that isn’t your fault.”
“Some of it was,” I say. “I’m impatient and take chances I probably shouldn’t in the name of getting ahead.”
“Pretty sure you just described every successful entrepreneur. And I’m impatient, too. I’m not perfect, Mack. Not even close.”
My brow furrows. “I know. You used to eat Lucky Charms for breakfast.”
“Before you came along and saved me,” he agrees with a soft smile that makes my chest ache.
The song changes to something faster, but we keep swaying slowly. Around us, drunk people are line dancing to a song that definitely isn’t meant for Boot Scootin’ Boogie, someone’s lost a shoe—it’s sitting in the middle of the floor like a sacrifice to the dance gods—and the crawfish lady has stripped down to her bra and tail.
As wild as it is, we may be the sanest people at this festival.
In honor of that accomplishment, I put on my big girl panties and confess, “You’re right. I’ve forgotten how to stop running away. And I’m scared. Scared you’ll hurt me, scared I’ll hurt you. Just…scared.”
“Maybe you will hurt me. Maybe I’ll hurt you,” he says, facing it head-on. “But as long as we don’t do it on purpose, would that be so bad? I mean, there’s a big difference between dickhead behavior and two people who gave something their best shot and just…fell short. Isn’t there?”
I press my lips together as I consider that.
I think about Christian, a lying sociopath who I’m pretty sure always had terrible things planned for me, right from the start. I think about Chuck, who, deep down, I always knew was a dingus with the emotional maturity of a pet rock, but who I stuck with for far longer than I should have. Mostly as a way to avoid both loneliness and the risk of a scary, long-term commitment at the same time.
And I think about Tanner, a good man whose love just happened to come along at the wrong time…
There’s pain when I think of all three, but with Tanner, the pain is bittersweet, beautiful, and precious in its own aching way.
I look up at Parker, at the second good man to want to be a part of my life.
I would be stupid to run away from this again. On some level, I realize that, but on another level…
“I think I might be stupid,” I confess. “Like, actually legitimately stupid.”
His lips hook up in a wry smile. “Because you’re thinking about telling me to hit the trail?”
“Maybe?” I squeak. “I don’t know. Just talking about this honestly has been scary. I feel like we’re in couples counseling, and we haven’t even fucked yet. That doesn’t seem fair.”
“You should get to come before you have to talk about your feelings,” he says, nodding as I hiss, “Yes!”
“Okay, then here’s what I think,” he says, pulling me close again. “I think we should sleep on it. Table any further discussion until tomorrow, when we’re sober and don’t have crustaceans on our heads.”
“I think that’s smart.”
“I have my moments.” He presses a kiss to my temple, soft and sweet. “We’ve got that nice hotel tomorrow night. With the hot tub on the balcony. I can make you come on my fingers in the hot tub, eat your pussy on a deck chair, and fuck you until you scream in the bed…all before we say another word about feelings.”
My cheeks flush hot. “Do I get to come every time?”
“Every time, or no further feelings talk required. Does that seem fair?”
“That seems very fair,” I say, fingers curling into his strong back as things low in my body begin to coil in anticipation. “Probably sexier to bang for the first time at a fancy hotel than in the back of your truck when we’re both sweaty and gross.”
“And we have to wake up and look people who have seen our truck rocking all night in the eye over bad campground coffee.”