Total pages in book: 121
Estimated words: 116999 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 585(@200wpm)___ 468(@250wpm)___ 390(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 116999 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 585(@200wpm)___ 468(@250wpm)___ 390(@300wpm)
Her eyes close, head bows. “Shit.” She looks back up a second later, sweet smile back in place. “We’ll be okay,” she says, squeezing my hand before crawling under the covers to join me. She cuddles in close, rests her head on my chest.
I wrap my arm around her, stroke her back. “Keep thinking about your dad. He’d be gutted seeing the place go under.” Like me, Becca’s father dedicated a huge chunk of his life to the same company, and it was his connections that got me the job in the first place.
“Yeah,” Becca agrees, sighing. “He always said it would go arse up once Flannely’s son took over, though. Remember? Looks like he was right.”
I think on that for a moment, about Ron Flannely – the ‘Big Man’ himself. I suppose things did change when his dad retired and passed over the reins. Ron is good on paper. He’s got the university degree and the fancy suit, but he’s no experience. He’s never been out on a job. Probably never so much as changed a frigging light bulb. He cut back in the wrong places, focused too much on marketing and pretentious branding, refused to take heed of concerns from us, the staff on the ground.
“Customer today asked if I planned to go it alone. Honestly, I thought about it for a minute, but it’d take too much time to build a client base. Then I’d need the capital for the tools, a van, advertising… I dunno, Bec. There aren’t any decent jobs going. I’ve been looking these past few weeks. You know, just in case.”
“Looking just in case isn’t the same as looking with intent. There’ll be something, I know it. We’ve got a little saved, and my mum will help, you know that. We’ll—”
“No, Bec,” I protest, until she shushes me.
She cranes her neck, stares up at me. “My mum won’t see us struggle, Will. We’re going to be fine. We’re always fine. We’ve been fine since we were seventeen no matter what life’s thrown at us.”
And I believe her, believe that smile. My fingers find their way into her hair as I bend to kiss her forehead. “I’d be lost without you. You know that, right?”
“Damn right I do.” Her chuckles vibrate against my chest as she stretches to kiss my lips. As we kiss, I feel her palm graze my stomach, inching lower. Once my soft cock is wrapped in her hand, she whispers against my mouth, “How about you join me in the shower? We can take our minds off all our troubles for a little while.”
Not tonight, I think, but out loud, I let out a quiet moan as she nips and licks along my neck, knowing that’s what she likes to hear. “I’m really tired, Bec.” Such a lame and overused excuse. “I’m sorry, baby.”
Still, she continues to stroke and tug at a dick that refuses to play ball. I want to scream. I hate this. I love being close to Becca, love the intimacy, the feeling of her skin on mine. I could lie here for hours with her warm body snuggled into me while I caress her back and breathe in the scent of her hair. That rarely happens, of course, because if I were to initiate a cuddle it could give her the wrong impression. She’d misinterpret my intentions, get excited. I’d only let her down. It’s easier to go to sleep cold and lonely, facing the window before she comes to bed.
“You sure?” she double checks, slowly waggling her brow.
My chest deflates slowly, knowing I’m about to disappoint her. “Maybe tomorrow…”
Despite her smile as she heads off to the bathroom, she knows as well as I do it’s a false promise. We had sex two weeks ago, which means it’ll be at least another two weeks before I start feeling guilty about turning her down so often and do it again. How pathetic is that? How sad is it that I know this? That I’m aware of it and keep allowing it to happen? For years I refused to think about it. I told myself I really was tired, that I did have a headache, and I forced myself to believe it. I even tried to convince myself I was asexual when I first came across the term a few years ago. According to one website I found, asexuality means I can still be emotionally attracted to people, so maybe I am? I mean, what other reason could there be for me, a relatively young and healthy man, to not want sex at every available opportunity for Christ’s sake?
The moment I saw the word, discovered what the deal was behind this new letter I kept seeing pop up at the end of the well-known acronym, the identity seemed like the perfect answer, better than the answer I was really afraid of…not that I shared it with anyone, even Becca. I was too old. All these new identities, figuring yourself out, coming out…that’s for the kids. Even the websites offer advice for telling your parents and peers at school. I’d left it too late.