Total pages in book: 87
Estimated words: 81831 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 409(@200wpm)___ 327(@250wpm)___ 273(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 81831 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 409(@200wpm)___ 327(@250wpm)___ 273(@300wpm)
I nod. “Yeah. Don’t most people?”
“No,” she says. “A lot of men don’t these days. Life is expensive, even without a family to support.”
“I guess.” I shrug. “But I’ve always found a way to pay for the things that really matter, even on a minor leaguer’s salary. I figure kids will be the same way.”
She frowns harder. “That’s optimistic of you.”
“You say that like it’s a bad thing.”
“No, it’s not a bad thing.”
I smile. “Then why are you frowning?”
“Because I can’t stand you. It makes agreeing with you difficult.” Before I can reply, she nods toward the kitchen. “Come get a beer or whatever. I’ll make food and then we can go to sleep and pretend this stupid day never happened. If you get up early and leave before I’m awake, even better.”
I follow her over to the kitchen, tucked into the corner beside the table. It’s a small, but gorgeous space with professional-grade appliances and big blue cabinets that complement the warm orange-brown of the wood floors.
She opens the fridge, leaning down to peer inside. “I have Hefeweizen, Ugly Dog Pale Ale, and a coffee-flavored beer my brothers like. There’s also leftover white wine from a soup I made the other day.” She reaches for the bottle. “I’m going with that.”
“I’ll have a glass, too, please. Not much of a beer guy.”
Her brows pop up her forehead as she closes the fridge. “You’re just full of surprises. I thought sporty guys were obligated to drink beer.”
“I’ll drink it, but it’s not my favorite.” Determined to prove to her that surprises can be a good thing, I add, “I prefer wine or bourbon on the rocks. I also prefer to apologize when I’ve fucked up, even if it was a long time ago, and I was just a dumb kid. I mean, I was dumb, really dumb, and without a decent male role model, but that doesn’t excuse it.”
She turns from the cabinet, two wineglasses in hand and a suspicious look on her face. “What?”
“I’m sorry,” I say. “For teasing you when we were kids.”
She swallows, her fingers tightening on the stems of the glasses. “It didn’t feel like teasing. It felt like…”
“Like what?” I prompt after a moment.
Her throat works again before she adds in a softer voice, “Like waiting for the next punch to land.”
I wince. “Ouch, but…I can see why you felt that way, and I’m sorry.”
She exhales. “Okay. I guess.”
“It doesn’t have to be okay. You don’t have to accept my apology if you don’t want to. I just wanted to offer it. I never meant to hurt you, Mel. I was just an idiot who didn’t know how to act in…certain situations.”
“You were one of the most popular kids at school and a sports ball hero,” she counters, her frown deepening again.
“Hockey has a puck, not a ball.”
“You know what I mean,” she says, not backing down. “You knew how to behave well enough to make everyone like you. And laugh along when you made fun of me for tripping on the stairs or wearing my brother’s clothes to school.”
“I made fun of you because…” Shame prickles at my throat, but I forgave teen me for being a douchebag years ago. Forgiveness is part of healing. Making amends is another, so I force myself to add, “I made fun of you because I had a big ugly crush on you, Freckles.”
Her eyes go wide.
“I can see you now, in one of Matty’s sweaters, the ones you wore as a dress. With your black combat boots on, flipping me off on your way into the locker room to change for gym…” I sigh and shake my head. “You were my cranky little teenaged dream, and I had no idea how to deal.”
A startled croak emerges from her throat. “So, my mother was right? You were metaphorically pulling my pigtails because you liked me?”
“Yeah, I was.”
She croaks again, a more amused sound this time. “Wow. That’s…so lame.”
“Yep. I was lame. A real nerd who had no idea how to deal with my feelings. Any feelings, but especially…squishy feelings. And again, I’m sorry. I’ve had a lot of therapy since then. I’m not that person anymore.” I shoot her my most winning grin. “I’m annoying in all new ways now.”
Her lips quirk. “I believe that.” She considers me for another beat before she reaches for the wine bottle, tugging the cork out. “Okay, maybe I won’t spit in your duck tortilla.” I pull in a breath to thank her, but she stops me with a finger pointed at my face. “But that doesn’t mean all is forgiven and forgotten. You’re on probation until you prove you’ve changed your turd burglar spots.”
I smile. “That’s fair. More than fair. Thank you.”
She nods, her gaze softening in a way I haven’t seen in years. Maybe…ever. “You’re welcome.”