Total pages in book: 96
Estimated words: 91748 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 459(@200wpm)___ 367(@250wpm)___ 306(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 91748 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 459(@200wpm)___ 367(@250wpm)___ 306(@300wpm)
“Oz was impressed with your work last night. He was happy to hear you wanted to do it again,” Forge told me.
“Oh, good. I did enjoy it. I just finished telling Calvin about it in my letter.” I paused and glanced back toward the room. “I probably should have gotten that to give to Oz.”
“It’s fine. I’ll get it later and make sure it is sent to Calvin,” he told me.
I didn’t want to give it to Forge. What if he read it? I’d mentioned his penis. He’d probably like that though. He was cocky. It would stroke his ego.
“You still up for tonight’s games? It’s warm enough to watch them out back. Bane is grilling steaks. It’ll be a good time.”
“Yeah. I’m up for it,” I told him. “I might be a little more nervous with Oz there, but I will get through it.”
Forge chuckled. “Oz won’t bite. He likes the indoor screen anyway. He’ll be watching the games he is covering in there. We will watch ours outside.”
That sounded less stressful.
“So, y’all split the games up most of the time then?”
“Yep. He used to do it all on his own, but I liked it and understood the lingo, so I started helping, and we were able to broaden our spread.”
I followed him down the stairs and then the hallway that led to the great room. It seemed we were going outside through the French doors instead of the front door. I assumed it was a security thing. Keeping me hidden, although the main gate was back far enough that the house wasn’t visible.
It was much quieter than when I had gone up to my room earlier. We hadn’t passed anyone else, and the great room was empty. Forge opened the glass door and stood back for me to exit. It was warm. Spring was almost here.
Thoughts of Mom came flooding in, and I took a deep breath. I hoped, one day, I could remember her without the deep void that would stretch out in my chest like a night sky with no stars. She’d want me to have fond memories. And both my parents deserved to have their lives remembered. Cherished.
“Not a fan of the sun?” Forge’s voice brought me back from the ache.
“I, uh … no, I love it,” I told him. “My mom … she loved it. Spring was her favorite time of year. Followed by summer.” My voice trailed off, and I looked out over the pool and luxurious surroundings, trying not to cry.
“My mom is a fall and winter lover. She adores the er months. Christmas is her favorite,” he told me. There wasn’t pity in his voice, but understanding.
“She and I agree on that. I start preparing for fall as soon as Fourth of July is over,” I told him. “It would drive my mom crazy.”
A corner of his mouth lifted. “You’d love my parents’ house come August then because my mother does the same thing. I’d fucking hate the smell of pumpkin spice and apple pie by the time November rolled around.” His nostrils flared slightly, and he glanced over my shoulder. “And now I’d do anything to smell that sweet shit every fall for the rest of my life and see her so damn happy about it.”
His gaze came back to mine. I didn’t say anything. The silence was needed for both of us right now.
He licked his lower lip and shook his head slightly. “You’re a real good distraction, Pickles,” he said.
My lips curled up at his words. The shadows that had crept in seemed to fade back again, allowing me a moment of delight. I didn’t need him to explain what he meant. I knew. I felt the same way when I was around him.
He chuckled and walked past me toward the pool. “Yeah, you don’t need to look so pleased about that.”
I watched him, then decided to follow. “Is that so?”
“It’s real fucking so,” he replied.
“And why is it real fucking so?” I pushed.
He paused at the edge of the zero entry, then cut his eyes back at me, but said nothing. I watched him, waiting for a response, but he dropped his gaze to the water and bent down to feel it.
“Might even be warm enough tonight,” he said, standing back up.
Change of subject. Okay, fine.
“There won’t be time to swim if the games go until one again,” I replied.
“Ah, Pickles, where is your sense of adventure? Swimming in the middle of the night would be fun,” he drawled and faced me. The smile and lightheartedness were gone from his expression again. Whatever had been bothering him before when he came to my room was back. “I need to tell you something.”
There it was. This was about me. The darkness in his gaze—it did have to do with me. I’d known it in my gut.