Total pages in book: 73
Estimated words: 68177 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 341(@200wpm)___ 273(@250wpm)___ 227(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 68177 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 341(@200wpm)___ 273(@250wpm)___ 227(@300wpm)
Honestly, when Melissa opened the door, I thought it was some kind of fluke, especially with the space being loaded down with high-end furniture. I had no idea the space came furnished, but I can admit I’m relieved I won’t have to buy anything except new bedding and linens. She did say that if I wanted to trade out the furniture for some of my own, they would pack it up and move it out for me. It’s not needed. Most of the stuff I have in storage is kitchen crap and clothes I will probably never wear.
“So, are you coming to my show tonight?” Jamie asks, pulling me from my thoughts, and I turn to look at him.
“If you promise to talk the guys into helping me move my stuff out of storage on Sunday, no matter how much they drink Saturday night.”
“You know they’d do anything for you.”
I do know that. I know Jamie’s friends have become mine. Actually, they’re like honorary brothers who didn’t give me much of a choice but to accept them.
“Then yes, I’m coming to the show.” I catch him grinning out the corner of my eye. “What?”
“Nothing.”
“It’s something,” I insist, watching him closely.
“You’re right. I just haven’t seen you this relaxed or excited in a while.”
I sigh. “You’re right. I haven’t been.” I shift in my seat. “It’s just that I finally feel like I’m getting my life back. I have a job and an apartment, and things are finally moving forward again. There was a while there that I didn’t know if I would be living with you for the rest of my life.”
“You don’t like living with me?”
“I like living with you. I can’t say I like waking up to use the bathroom and running into your booty calls every night.”
“I’m not that bad.”
“You’re worse.” I roll my eyes. “Honestly, I can’t wait for you to meet someone and settle down.”
“I’m twenty-five. I’ll settle down when I’m thirty,” he tells me, and I raise a brow. “Okay, forty.”
I shake my head. “All I’m saying is you’re never going to find the one if you keep looking for the next one-night stand.”
“I’m not in the market for a wife, Dakota.” His tone softens as he continues. “I know you want that. A family, to get married and have kids, but I don’t.”
“Never?” I ask, my heart hurting at the idea of him not ever opening himself up to sharing his life with someone.
“I’m not saying I never want to settle down; I’m just saying I don’t want that right now. I’m happy with the way things are and just want to focus on my career.” He glances over at me with a look in his eyes I can’t decipher. “I’m surprised you still believe in the white picket fence after the shit Troy put you through.”
“He hurt me, but he didn’t kill my dream.” I start to chew my nail, but he grabs my wrist to stop me.
“Ever the dreamer.”
“Did you really think some guy cheating on me would change that?” I ask but know in my gut I have doubts about men and relationships that I didn’t have before.
“For a while I did, but I guess I shouldn’t be surprised that it didn’t. Shit, I still remember when we were kids and all the stories you would make up.”
I smile at that. “Like when I use to pretend I was psychic and tell other kids their futures?”
“Yeah, and when you would talk for hours about the guy you’d marry, who’d want to adopt ten kids and you’d live in a huge-ass house.”
“I still want that.” I smile, turning to look out the window, then say softly, “Even if I never find the right guy, I want to adopt. I want to give a child or children a home where they know they’re safe and loved.”
“I know you do.” He presses his knuckle against my cheek where my dimple is, making my smile bigger.
________________
“Holy shit, bitch. Look at you!” Maggie, the owner of View—one of the most popular clubs in Seattle—shouts as soon as she spots me sitting on the edge of the stage where Jamie and his band are setting up for their show.
When I met Maggie, I wasn’t sure what to think of her. On first impression, she comes across as aggressive, with her loud personality and outward appearance. She looks like a rock chick, with her white almost silver hair shaved on the sides and longer on the top in an almost Mohawk, makeup that is always extreme, and outfits that make it look like she walked off the set of a ‘90s rock video.
“It’s just jeans.” I hop down to greet her with a hug, and when she lets me go, she grabs my biceps to examine me more closely.