Total pages in book: 140
Estimated words: 134045 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 670(@200wpm)___ 536(@250wpm)___ 447(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 134045 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 670(@200wpm)___ 536(@250wpm)___ 447(@300wpm)
He didn’t notice, nor did he notice his mother may or may not be dying from a red wine-induced headache. He was too busy telling me how marshmallows were trees in his dreams and how awesome would that be?
He didn’t notice Lance wasn’t there until I’d gotten him fed, myself caffeinated and both of us borderline ready for work and school. After I’d found a waffle iron in Nathan’s backpack and told him he could not make waffles at recess.
Then, he was cranky.
Obviously I was cranky, having been used to the good coffee, Lance’s presence and the absence of a wine hangover.
Nathan got worse when we got outside and did not see the SUV that was usually there.
He peppered me with questions the entire drive to school. Questions I could not answer, did not want to answer and could not concentrate on while driving.
So he was not happy when he got to school.
Neither was I.
The bad mood continued until the late afternoon when Karen called to say she had a free afternoon and could pick Nathan up and hang out, knowing I had a long shift today. She seemed to sense something in my voice because she also told me she was making her risotto.
I cheered up then.
Karen’s risotto was the shit.
She’d done a semester in Italy while at college—how frickin’ cool was that? My only experience of travel was driving across the country trying to escape Robert—and while there, she’d learned how to make this porcini mushroom, sage, and orange risotto that angels would sing about.
I had sung about it.
She saved it for special occasions, whenever one or all of us were craving excessive amounts of parmesan and carbohydrates.
My day continued to go up from there, as my headache went away and some sense returned. It also helped that Bobby made peanut butter cake. Chocolate, peanut butter and the knowledge of good friends and risotto were waiting for you at home were all I needed to get my head out of my ass.
I kissed Lance.
Maybe not my smartest moment, but not something I was going to regret.
Firstly, because it was epic.
The best kiss I’d ever had in my life.
The hottest.
Secondly, because I’d been torturing myself with Lance, my feelings for him. I made a move, for better or for worse, I’d done something so I wouldn’t spend the rest of my life wondering when all this chaos was over and done with.
I would not regret the kiss.
Whether Lance came back or not.
Shit, I really wanted him to come back.
The kiss was better than peanut butter chocolate cake.
Better than Karen’s risotto.
So, when I saw a familiar SUV parked outside my house when I pulled up, my heart skipped a beat. Then another twelve beats.
He got out of the car as soon as I parked and got out of my own.
I glanced over to Karen and Eliza’s, waiting for Nathan to run out and jump on Lance. He did not do so, luckily.
Lance was wearing shades, so I couldn’t gauge his expression. His jaw looked hard, his hair looked great.
That wasn’t something that needed to be noticed right now. Or the way I could totally see the outline of his abs underneath the black tee he was wearing. I hated that almost every time he saw me, I was either wearing my work uniform, a towel—okay that was only once—or cut-offs and whatever tee was clean at the time. The only time he’d seen me borderline presentable was at church, even then, I didn’t get to pull out the stops I normally did.
Granted, I hardly ever pulled out any stops apart from doing something cute with my hair and showering, but still, I liked dressing up, I liked looking nice, especially when confronted with a serious hot guy who looked beyond nice, all the frickin’ time. But that was life, I was facing the hot guy while wearing a diner uniform that smelled of grease and coffee, with no makeup and questionably clean hair.
“Inside,” I said the second he stopped in front of me, deciding to take charge of the situation, and maybe he’d be distracted by that and not notice the hair or the grease smell. “Nathan is next door and probably watching the street for you periodically and I think it would be better if we...” I trailed off. If we had a quickie on the sofa? Made out again. Got married?
“Inside,” I said instead of all of that.
His sunglasses stayed focused on me for a long pause before he nodded once.
Right. So he wasn’t even going to speak to me.
Fine.
Good.
I straightened my shoulders and walked purposefully to the house, waiting until we were inside and the door was closed before I spoke.
Lance was barely two steps in when I started on him.
“We need to talk,” I said, my voice rushed and panicked.