Total pages in book: 108
Estimated words: 104657 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 523(@200wpm)___ 419(@250wpm)___ 349(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 104657 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 523(@200wpm)___ 419(@250wpm)___ 349(@300wpm)
Everleigh gives it her best shot. And her attempt not to react almost works, but then she swallows hard. “Why are you asking?”
“Because your mom told Maren you haven’t been with another man since me.”
She curls her lips between her teeth for a few seconds before offering a slow nod. “You’ll never know.”
“What do you mean I’ll never know?”
With a dismissive eye roll, she pivots and gets a glass of water.
“Just freaking tell me.” I turn.
She gulps half the glass and then sets it on the counter. “See. Freaking fits nicely there. But I’m not telling you because it’s none of your business. And I like that you don’t know the answer. Your reaction to not knowing is quite telling.”
“Oh yeah?” I cross my arms over my chest. “What’s it telling you?”
She checks her watch. “It’s ten forty-five. I have to put on my pajamas and brush my teeth.”
“I’m not letting you use my PlayStation tonight.”
She frowns. “I’ll let you play with me.”
I’m forty years old. More mature. More controlled. My mind can make the responsible choice to stay out of the gutter.
“Tell me what you’re thinking,” she says.
I swallow the “fuck you” on the tip of my tongue, even though it would fit perfectly at this point in our conversation. She wants me to be a dirty old man, but I’m too mature to give her that level of satisfaction no matter how hard she tries to shrink me.
“I think it’s gross that you just brush your teeth and don’t floss.” I grab a beer from the fridge and plant my ass on my sofa to play my PlayStation.
But all I will think about for the rest of the night is . . . has she had sex with anyone since me?
Chapter Fifteen
Everleigh
“Oh!” My mom gasps, coming out of the bathroom just as I reach the top of the stairs to brush and floss my teeth. “Where did you go? And why didn’t you leave me a message? Did you have to deal with a patient?” She flips her hair over her shoulder and rubs her tired eyes.
I glance down at my dress. “Do you think I dress like this for patients?”
She inspects me. “I’m half asleep, dear. I didn’t focus on your outfit.”
“I went to the bar with Will.”
She perks up like I just infused espresso into her veins. “Do tell.”
“There’s nothing to tell.” I squeeze past her to brush my teeth.
“Was it a date?”
I shake my head, turning on my electric toothbrush.
“He’s cute,” she whispers with a hand cupped at the side of her mouth.
I nod and smirk over my mouthful of suds.
“He’s still upset about taking your virginity.”
I stare at her while I finish brushing my teeth. After I spit and retrieve the floss, I turn toward her and lean against the counter, wrapping the floss around my fingers. “He’s upset I was seventeen. And there’s nothing I can do about it now.”
“You can apologize.”
I shrug. “I’ve done that. And maybe he just needs time to accept my apology. It’s still new, and he might need a minute to gauge my sincerity. But sometimes an apology (no matter how sincere) is not enough. Sometimes the only thing that will make something better for someone is going back in time and undoing it. Of course, that’s not possible. I have this discussion all the time with patients. We look for a solution to make amends or find a way to take what is available. Maybe that’s an apology or compensation. And often the patient thinks that will make things better, but then they get what they think they need and find out it’s not enough.”
“So then what?”
I work the floss between my teeth and mumble, “Then nothing. It’s called job security, Mom.”
She chuckles. “That’s terrible.”
I nod. “It is. But it’s life.”
Mom blows me a kiss and heads back to bed. “Night, hun.”
I rinse my mouth with mouthwash, remove my makeup, and head back to the shed, passing Will on the way. He ignores me because he’s in the gaming zone.
After I change into a tight white tank top and cotton shorts, I return to the house, plopping down on the sofa next to Will.
“I didn’t tell you I was seventeen because I was seventeen. So close to eighteen.”
His thumbs furiously punch the controller as he ignores me.
“I’m thinking about building a barndominium. Do you know what that is?”
“I do,” he says.
Will’s two-word response is a thrill. I’m easily satisfied. Does he remember just how easily?
“A house that resembles a barn on the outside, usually built with a steel frame and metal exterior.”
“Correct. I heard you’re pretty handy. If you want to make some extra money on your days off, I’d consider hiring you to help me finish the inside after it’s constructed.”
“Who told you I’m pretty handy?” he asks, killing two guys.