Total pages in book: 93
Estimated words: 89145 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 446(@200wpm)___ 357(@250wpm)___ 297(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 89145 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 446(@200wpm)___ 357(@250wpm)___ 297(@300wpm)
My forehead wrinkled, and I lifted my brows. “What?”
“That’s the style I’m going for,” he said. “It’s mad hot. Like, classic British. Nice slacks—the kind my ass looks irresistible in—and gingham shirts, maybe a vest…? I can’t do suspenders. That’s Kellan’s thing.”
I’d prefer if he’d stop talking, to be honest. I didn’t need those images in my head.
Alfie had never enjoyed going shopping and worrying about clothes, and yet, he had a knack for fashion. He knew what looked good, and he happened to look good in everything, as long as he was comfortable.
“I’m sure you’ll look fine,” I settled for saying. “I’m more concerned about you bringing a teenager to a pub.”
He cracked a grin. “They serve soda there.”
Uh-huh.
Colby shifted in his seat, and I side-eyed him.
“You know I don’t have any money, right?” he said quietly.
Alfie waved that off. “Don’t worry about it. If you’re gonna work for me, there’s some shit you’ll need. We’ll take care of it today.”
“How old are you, son?” I asked the boy.
“Sixteen, sir,” he answered.
“So you’re not done with high school.”
Alfie and Colby exchanged a look, and my darling ex faced me with a smirk.
“Don’t shit your pants, but he dropped out,” he informed me. “We’re gonna work on that, though.” That one was directed at Colby. “You should at least get your GED.”
Christ. “When are you going to do that? In between pub meets and late-night work emergencies in the bad part of town?”
Alfie cracked up and leaned back in the chair. “You’re so funny sometimes, West.”
There was nothing funny about this at all. In fact, the more I thought about it, the more irritated I became.
“You’re talking about pubs and shopping—and him working for you—when he could be in summer school,” I pointed out. “Depending on when he dropped out, there’s a chance for him to catch up and graduate with his peers in a couple of years.”
“All due respect, but I hated school,” Colby said.
“Most young minds do,” I replied. “That doesn’t mean it’s not important.”
Alfie smiled and scratched his eyebrow. “I got this, West.”
Oh, I was sure.
“Dad?” Trip called. “You’ve had your coffee now!”
“One cup is no cup,” Alfie muttered under his breath. Then he blew out a breath, squared his shoulders, and gripped the armrests of the chair. “Time to go be a daddy.” He turned to Colby. “We’ll leave in an hour or so.”
“Okay.” Colby nodded.
With that out of the way, Alfie rose to his feet, and in a fluid motion, he was sprinting toward the pool, causing Trip to light up like a Christmas tree. I hauled in a breath as Alfie did a flip into the water, sweatpants still on, and our son could not be happier. He was swept under by the waves from Alfie’s plunge, though he resurfaced a beat later and immediately swam toward Alfie.
That was the energy Alfie used to bring to our marriage, and the sight of it alone was enough to breathe so much life into me that I knew I’d feel extra lonely the moment they left.
Having grown up with two incredibly dull parents, I’d vowed to myself to be more fun the day I had children. But there was no denying that Alfie took the prize, and he’d nudged me out of a comfort zone or two in the past.
His wild streak had always been so infectious to me. When we’d taken Ellie to a playground back in LA, Alfie had taught me that parents didn’t have to stand by and watch. We could be there in the sandbox with our children. We could sit on the swings with them, we could chase them around, and we could build sandcastles.
My God, I missed him so damn much.
I watched Colby finish his juice, and I was talking before I could stop myself.
“Alfie doesn’t have a guest room,” I said. “He has a home office with a bed. I have a guest studio with all the amenities you could possibly need—with room for additions. I’m sure a young man like you would like an Xbox or a PlayStation.”
He scrunched his nose and was obviously utterly confused.
“You could stay here,” I clarified. “You do your thing with Alfie—work for him or whatever mobster plans he has for you. But you could live here, with the only stipulation that you let me try to convince you to go back to school.”
I was truly pathetic. I was using a sixteen-year-old to somehow make my house less empty, to force Alfie to come out here more often, and maybe even let me see my children when it wasn’t my week.
“You don’t have to decide now.” I had to do some damage control. “Think about it. Run it by Alfie if you want—the offer’s on the table.”
He scratched his forehead, glanced over at Alfie in the pool, and then back to me.