Total pages in book: 102
Estimated words: 94546 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 473(@200wpm)___ 378(@250wpm)___ 315(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 94546 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 473(@200wpm)___ 378(@250wpm)___ 315(@300wpm)
Don’t get me wrong. They had an undeniable connection, but it wasn’t the same spark that fed the connection between Octavia and me the past twenty-four hours.
Ours took hours of sex to smother, and even then, it only lowered the flame to a simmer instead of completely extinguishing it.
Lucky, because when I catch sight of the scars on my back in the bathroom mirror, my cock finally gets the memo that it isn’t meant to maintain an erection twenty-four-seven. Visual reminders of a fucked-up childhood are enough to bring any man down from a high.
Dr. Avery has claimed for years that my ‘issues’ downstairs don’t stem from a medical misdiagnosis. Now, I’m starting to believe her. But it has nothing to do with missed opportunities or clashing schedules. It’s solely based on the woman who stopped me in my tracks more than once.
That’s why I won’t give up.
Come hell or highwater, Octavia will be mine.
I’m aware of the steps to ensure that happens. I just got one matter to take care of first.
The thickness between my legs with memories of my night with Octavia reinflated faster than my past tried to snuff it out.
CHAPTER 11
OCTAVIA
“Don’t.” I give more oomph to my clipped command by pinning Caleb in place with a stern finger point. “I don’t have time for a lecture. I’m already late.”
“You wouldn’t be late if you didn’t spend half your night tossing and turning.” When my rummage through the entryway table doesn’t locate my keys, he grabs them out of the junk bowl on the dining room table and tosses them into my chest. “Unless being late is the point?”
After stuffing my house key into my pocket and snatching up my purse from the dining table, I spin to face him. “Why would I want to be purposely late? I’m already on my last legs, and newsflash, I’m the only one paying our rent at the moment.”
“Hey, that’s not fair. You told me to quit.” He’s right. I did tell him to quit. No one deserves to be abused twelve hours of the day by a man who thinks the title of ‘manager’ gives him the right to belittle his staff, but I had no clue that it would take him more than a couple of days to find another job. Caleb can do pretty much anything, but ever since COVID-19 hit, there’s been thousands of applicants for every employment opportunity.
“I’m sorry. I am being a…”
“Bitch?” Caleb fills in when words allude me. There’s no malice in his tone. No anger. Because he isn’t being mean. He is simply being honest. “It’s okay to have a bad day. Hell, it’s okay to have a few bad weeks, but I still think there’s more to your sleep-in than you’re letting on. The last time you slept past your alarm was the day you asked me to move to Seattle with you.”
Once again, he’s right. There is more to my dillydallying than I’m letting on. I convinced myself multiple times last night that I don’t want Jack to make true on his threat, but I’d be a liar if I said I didn’t watch the clock for every second that passed when it hit nine o’clock.
“Did you want a ride to work?” Caleb asks when I tug on my running shoes so my daily walk will be cut in half.
I shake my head. “No, that’s fine. I’ve got plenty of energy to exert before a nine-hour stint at snooze-palooza.” I give him a small smile, both remorseful for my words and desperate to know he isn’t mad at me before we spend the day apart.
When he returns my grin with a cheeky wink, I practically skip to the door. “Good luck with your interview today,” I singsong as I gallop through the front door of our apartment. “I’m sure you’ll ace it.”
His reply is gobbled up by the door slamming shut and my runners hitting the concrete stairs at the speed of a freight train. Usually, I leisurely walk to work while taking in the scenery. Today, it will seem as if I am competing in a mini-marathon. At this time of the year, the footpaths are forever overloaded with tourists, so I’d hate to think how bad the ferry will be.
The walk from my apartment building to the ferry terminal usually takes around thirty-five minutes, but today, I shave ten minutes off the time.
“Good morning, Merrick.”
Merrick tugs a raincoat over his WSDOT uniform as untrusting of the clouds on the horizon as me before he spins to greet me with a smile. “Good morning, Tivy. You’re late this morning.”
“I know. I had a rather interesting weekend.”
What? Merrick is older than my grandfather. I can’t give him all the juicy details like Jess demanded yesterday afternoon. Furthermore, wouldn’t that be the equivalent of rubbing salt into my wounds? I kicked Jack out, but I wasn’t spared from the carnage. My ego was as severely wounded as his.