Total pages in book: 124
Estimated words: 117574 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 588(@200wpm)___ 470(@250wpm)___ 392(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 117574 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 588(@200wpm)___ 470(@250wpm)___ 392(@300wpm)
I look down at my shoes, feeling too vulnerable to look Charlotte in the eyes when I say the next part. “Well, yeah, that might be true of me now. But down the line, what would be more important to me? Being able to take care of neglected and abandoned animals, or being able to take care of my family in the best possible way?” I muster the courage to look up. “Pets owned by wealthy people need medical care, too. And they’re still animals in need. So, really, helping them would still make me feel like I’m serving an important purpose, at the end of the day. If Rudy got cancer, for instance, or broke a bone, I’d be proud to be the vet to help him get better. There’d be no shame in that.”
The elevator opens and Charlotte and I step out silently. But midway down the hallway, she says, “I agree there’d be no shame in that. Of course, not. It’s an honorable profession, any way you do it. But we’re talking about you. Auggie Vaughn. And you can’t change who you are, at your very core, for the sake of taking care of some hypothetical family who doesn’t even exist yet. Be true to yourself, and the rest will follow, exactly the way it’s meant to. If circumstances change, and you want to shift your professional course down the line, then you will.”
Jesus. She’s missed my meaning. Again. Why doesn’t Charlotte understand I’m talking about her? Imagining Charlotte as my future wife—the mother of my future babies—the heart of the family I’m dreaming of building and housing in comfort and style, the way Ryan and Tessa, and my brother and his wife, have done for their families?
Only a month ago, I wouldn’t have thought it possible of me, but I’d give up a whole lot, even my current professional goals, to make it work with Charlotte. Hell, I could apply to transfer to a vet school in LA, if that would mean we could stay together. But I can’t do any of it if Charlotte doesn’t see a future with me the way I see one with her. The problem is, every time I try to suss out if Charlotte’s feelings for me might have changed and deepened beyond our original “no strings attached” arrangement, she doesn’t take the hint and give me any clarity. And, unfortunately, I’m not willing to go out on a limb by saying “I love you” to a woman who hasn’t given me any indication she’d say it back to me.
We’ve reached Charlotte’s front door now. She slides her key in the lock, and we step inside the unit. Quickly, Charlotte grabs the birthday girl’s wrapped present from her big suitcase, and we head next door to my place to gather our next required item: my carry-on suitcase.
When we step inside my place, Charlotte plops onto my couch while I head into my bedroom to grab the bag. But when I come back out to the living room, Charlotte’s holding up her phone with a snarky, mischievous smirk on her pretty face.
“What?”
She waggles her eyebrows. “It’s time to pay your debt, Augustus Vaughn. You promised me a boy band performance as my reward when we had all the money, remember?”
“Shit.”
Charlotte laughs. “You promised, and you’re a man of your word.”
“Yes, I am. Unfortunately.” I exhale. “Okay, McDougal. Cue up the song. One horrendously terrible boy-band-lip-synch-attempted-dance fiasco coming right up.”
“It’s already cued up. ‘No Strings Attached.’ Let me know when you’re ready.”
It’s the song my friends and I lip-synched in middle school, so she couldn’t possibly be sending me yet another coded message. And yet, even though my brain knows that, my heart irrationally feels like she’s selected the song to remind me of our agreed-upon arrangement.
I stand before her with my head bowed. “Ready.”
Charlotte cues the song, and to my surprise, every word comes back to me. In fact, I actually think I’m doing a pretty good job of lip-synching here. Surprisingly good. My dance moves aren’t as successful, unfortunately. In fact, I’m at such a loss for choreography, I wind up turning the whole performance into a striptease, basically—one that leaves me standing before Charlotte, naked and hard, as the song winds down.
As the blaring song ends, Charlotte pops up from the coach, throws her arms around my neck, and kisses me passionately, which, predictably, leads to me ripping off her clothes and laying her down onto my couch.
After eating her out and making her come, I sink myself inside her—all the fucking way—and rock my pelvis in and out, with gusto, as Charlotte matches my every movement. As we move together, I look into her green eyes and whisper, “You’re safe now. We did it.”
“We did it,” she whispers back. “I’m so happy, Auggie.”