Total pages in book: 91
Estimated words: 84228 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 421(@200wpm)___ 337(@250wpm)___ 281(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 84228 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 421(@200wpm)___ 337(@250wpm)___ 281(@300wpm)
“You’re falling for her,” he points out. “I just hope you know what you’re doing.”
“Me, too, Dad,” I admit. “Me, too. No one knows about us, not even Cassie.” His eyebrows shoot up in the air. “Let’s just say that Cassie didn’t play nice at the beginning, and well, my girl wasn’t going to take it, so she got her barred from the interview rooms when she’s in there.” I laugh, thinking about how she stood up to her and how she kept her ground.
My father shakes his head. “One of these days, you are going to have to pick a side, son,” he tells me, and I really hope I don’t have to. “The question is, which side are you going to pick?” I drop my head back and let out a huge breath.
“Let’s go and get to know your woman,” he says, and I smile now. My woman. Yes, let’s. We walk out to the balcony. My father carries my mother’s wine glass and hands it to her. She wraps her arm around his waist. I hand Jessica hers, staying at her side, and she just smiles at me.
“Isn’t this pretty?” my mother says, and I nod. I grab Jessica’s pinky with mine, and I’m surprised when she curls it with mine and doesn’t pull away.
“You want to sit?” I ask Jessica, and she nods, walking over to the huge round table that is big enough for about eight people but only has four chairs. A low huge centerpiece of pink roses fills the table. My mother and father follow and sit down at the table.
“So tell me, Jessica,” my mother starts, “what do you do?” My father chuckles beside her. “I’m getting to know her. Stop it.” She looks back at Jessica. “I don’t mean to pry,” she says and then leans in, “it’s just I’ve never really met any of Tyler’s friends.”
“Oh, dear God,” I mumble. Grabbing my beer, I down most of it. “For the love of all that is, I’ve already told you what she does.’”
Jessica reaches over and puts her hand on mine. “It’s fine.” She smiles at me, and I know it will be. “I’m a reporter. A celebrity reporter.”
“Oh, that sounds like fun,” my mother says. “How long have you been doing this?”
“It feels like forever,” she says, sitting back in the chair. “It’s safe to say I didn’t think this is where my career would take me.”
“No?” my mother asks, and I even look at her surprised. “Really? What were your plans?”
“I started this job just to get some experience under my belt. My dream job would be an investigative reporter.”
“Really?” I say out loud, looking at her.
“Yes,” she says, laughing and then looks at my mother. “I was giving myself two years, and then I would apply to other jobs and branch out, but”—she shrugs—“I chickened out. And well, the time just went by, year after year, and now, I don’t know if they would even take me seriously.”
“How so?” I ask her.
“I’m a reporter for celebrities,” she says and then leans forward. “I report when people are having affairs, or give birth, even engaged.” She smiles, and I see that it’s not sincere. “And well, it’s not very serious.” Crossing her arms and leaning on her elbow, she says, “Don’t get me wrong. I love what I do.”
“But it’s not fulfilling,” my mother supplies. “Oh my God,” she shrieks, “you’re the one who interviewed Oprah!” I shake my head, now laughing. “Oh my God.” She puts her glass of wine on the table, bringing her hand to her mouth. “I remember watching the interview and thinking how smart you sounded.”
“Thank you,” Jessica says, looking down. Her hair falls in the front, so she tucks it back behind her ear, and I lean forward now, not stopping, not caring. She turns and looks at me, and I lean over and kiss her on her lips softly and gently, then I sit back and look at my mother, who just looks at us with a huge smile on her face. My father’s concerned this could go terribly wrong. If that happens, my mother will probably be hurt, and if she is, he is going to rip me a new asshole. I may be his son, but she’s his soul.
“I’ll go and see where the food is,” I say, getting up. “Do you want more wine?” I ask my mother, and then look at Jessica, who is already standing up.
“I’ll come and help,” she tells me and grabs my father’s empty beer bottle. “Would you like another one, Mr. Beckett?” He just smiles at her and nods. She walks in with me and drops the bottle on the bar, and I grab her hand, dragging her into the bedroom. Closing the door behind her, I push her up against the door and her eyes widen when I put my hands near her head. “Tyler.” I don’t let her say another word. I kiss her, feeling her, my heart finally beating slow again, her hands on my chest. She releases me with a groan. “Your parents are outside, and you kissed me in front of them.”