Total pages in book: 58
Estimated words: 55738 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 279(@200wpm)___ 223(@250wpm)___ 186(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 55738 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 279(@200wpm)___ 223(@250wpm)___ 186(@300wpm)
“And you,” she replies.
“Will you be seeing James again?”
I have to ask this part. If there’s a chance they’re going to become boyfriend and girlfriend, will I be able to handle it? I just saw them almost kiss, and I was ready to throw my own son across the parking lot. I’d never hurt him, obviously, but the impulse was there.
“I don’t think so,” she says, telling me everything I need to know.
He must’ve shown the douchey, slightly condescending part of himself. It’s the part of him that disappears when we’re together. Then, he can be curious, interested, even self-deprecating. It’s as if he has to put a shield up with the rest of the world, but what if it’s worse than that? What if he’s outright cruel?
“Ah,” I say, still standing here with absolutely no excuse.
“I’m sorry about your dog,” she says after a moment, almost as though she’s looking for a reason to hang around too. “James told me what happened.”
“I’m sorry too,” I say. “Wherever he is, he doesn’t deserve what’s happening to him.”
“Have you reported…” she trails off, gesturing behind me. I turn to find James standing outside the car, waving at me. If I had an excuse to be standing here, talking with Samantha, I’d tell him to wait patiently, but what possible reason could I have?
She’s around James’ age, so half mine. She’s so, so young. Her youth bursts through her features in that nervous blush. She’s got her hands clasped in front of her, giving her a withdrawn, shy look that makes me want to draw her out.
And that dress… My balls swell when I think about pulling it over her head, revealing her curvy body. I’d squeeze her hips with enough force so she’d know that she belongs to me. Only me. Not my son and nobody else.
“It was nice meeting you,” I tell her honestly.
It’s insanely difficult to turn away from her, walk across the lot, and climb into the driver’s seat. There’s this new urgency inside me, roaring to grab and claim her. For life. Forever. I’m panting when I start the engine, gripping the wheel hard like I’m getting ready to snap it off.
“I’m sorry, Dad.”
“Why are you sorry?” I ask.
“Back there, I just wanted to kiss her. I wasn’t…”
“Wasn’t what?” I growl, knowing I should try to be more like his mom, softer, more understanding, but that’s never me. If he were anybody else, he’d be picking his teeth up off the ground for approaching her like that.
“Going to kiss her if she didn’t want me to.”
“Learn to read people,” I say fiercely, pulling out of the lot before I lose my resolve and speed back to her. “Too many people are too shy, nervous, or accommodating to say no. They’ll go along with whatever you want, even if unsure. Learn to read them.”
“How?” he asks quietly.
“Watch them. Think about them, not yourself.”
He turns to the window. He can probably sense us getting closer to the old argument about selfishness. I left the military just before his mom passed away from cancer. He was seventeen, already himself, but I’ve done my best to correct some of the mistakes his mom made. It’s not that simple. They were my mistakes, too. I should’ve been there, but when I was an operator, it was all I could afford to think about. I’d be dead otherwise. Or is that just more of an excuse?
“She didn’t like me, anyway,” James says.
I almost breathe a sigh of relief. Not that it means much. What am I going to do? Find her, grab her, kiss her? She’s so much younger than me, with so much less life experience. She wants somebody young and exciting, somebody to start her life with. She won’t want a man with gray in his hair and agony in his eyes.
“You’ll find somebody else,” I tell him gruffly.
“Yeah,” he mutters. “It’s just rejection doesn’t feel good.”
“You went on one date. It didn’t go perfectly. It’s not the end of the world.”
“Maybe it’s the end of my world.”
He’s on the verge of throwing a tantrum. I bite down, jaw aching, wondering how Margot would’ve dealt with this. The sad truth is, she probably wouldn’t have. Or she would’ve babied him. I hate the whine in his voice. He wouldn’t last two seconds in my old life. Maybe I’m a sexist bastard, but I don’t think men should whine like that.
“If that’s how you feel,” I tell him, “you need to take a long, hard look in the mirror. One bad date shouldn’t send you into a spiral.”
“I’m not in a spiral,” he says, again with that whining tone.
“I love you, James,” I tell him.
He scoffs. “Need to remind yourself, do you?”
“I love you,” I repeat, “but it’s time to grow up. It’s time to accept—”