Total pages in book: 79
Estimated words: 74451 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 372(@200wpm)___ 298(@250wpm)___ 248(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 74451 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 372(@200wpm)___ 298(@250wpm)___ 248(@300wpm)
At this point, my stomach hurts, my body is overheating, and yet it feels like all my pain is centered right at her grip. I'm surprised I've stayed upright. I cup Tillie's hand as she looks at the woman with panic, eyes wide, clearly in shock.
“We're not having kids. We're not together. He doesn't even know I exist,” she argues—still clutching my balls.
“I’m pretty sure he knows you exist right now. You really should let his uh berries loose before you turn them into jelly.”
“Berries?” Tillie squeaks.
“For the love of all that's holy, Tillie, let go of my balls!” Fuck, I’m surprised my voice isn’t at least ten octaves higher.
She finally loosens her hold enough I can yank her hand away, covertly covering my balls as I lean against the wall to catch my breath.
“I…uh…Mrs. Lane this is not what it looks like,” Tillie replies, tripping over her words. “I don't even know what just happened.”
“If you say so, dear. In any event, I'd say you made sure he will remember you now,” Mrs. Lane says, sounding smug as she walks away.
“Oh God! Do you know what you’ve done?” Tillie cries looking at me like she wants to kill me. I close my eyes, wondering if I should just let her, it would have to be less painful. I hurt so much that I’m not sure I’ll ever be the same again and yet, I still have the urge to kiss the horrified look off Tillie’s face. I try to breathe through my pain and while I’m doing that, I try to figure out just when I lost my damn mind.
Tillie
I go through the motions of closing the store, flicking off the lights as I step out the door with my keys. Tonight, I have a pep in my step because my parents are away on their thirty-second wedding anniversary, which means I'm both in charge of the store and the house. I think that's what I'm looking forward to the most. I can sneak upstairs and have a hot bath, curl up with a good book and go to bed early.
I know I need my own apartment—one with a huge tub—but I haven't pulled the trigger on that yet. Mostly because my parents don't want me to move out. Living in their basement saves me money, that’s true. I mean, that’s how I saved for my Bronco. It’s also a lot like having my own apartment because it has its own entrance since I have the entire basement to myself. Still, I know they’re up there and I always go upstairs to cook dinner for them, or to help Mom cook. Which ultimately means I don’t get to my own space for hours. Plus, it was unhandy when I was dating Keith. There’s just something about knowing your parents are upstairs and can hear everything that is going on that makes having your boyfriend over…unsettling. Still, that’s not an issue since the two of us broke up. Now, if someone comes over it is someone asking for a favor which ranges from someone ordering a cake for a special occasion or a babysitter to watch their kids.
I turn the lock on the door, wiggling it to ensure it's secure before I turn around to see a man standing there. I let out a scream as he grabs my shoulders.
Ryder…
“Calm down, Buttons. I don't need you reaching out to try and de-ball me again,” Ryder grumbles, looking slightly concerned. “My boys still haven't recovered as it is.”
“Ryder, why are you lurking out here?” I ask, trying to catch my breath as my heart hammers in my chest.
“I'm not lurking. I was waiting for you to get off work,” he argues.
“Why?” I can’t help but be skeptical. All this attention from Ryder is starting to unnerve me. I don’t understand it.
“I was hoping you'd agree to let me take you out for dinner.”
I frown, instantly shaking my head no. “Why on earth would I ever agree to that?”
“Because you want to spend time with me,” Ryder says confidently.
“You've lost your mind,” I respond before I can stop myself.
"Nope. You want me. I can tell," Ryder proclaims with a smirk.
"Have you always been this delusional, or is this something new that happened when you moved to the city?" I question incredulously. I have no idea what’s going on with him.
“Is your name really Tilda?” Ryder asks, sidestepping my question.
I feel the color leech out of my face. “Wh-where did you hear that?”
“The other night when you were kneading my balls, Mrs. Lane called you Tilda.”
“I was not kneading your balls!” I bark.
“Kneading sounded better than you were squeezing my balls like a tube of toothpaste.”
“I said I was sorry,” I mumble.
“I don't remember that.”
“It was implied when I got you a bag of ice from the kitchen staff.”