Total pages in book: 37
Estimated words: 35207 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 176(@200wpm)___ 141(@250wpm)___ 117(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 35207 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 176(@200wpm)___ 141(@250wpm)___ 117(@300wpm)
My tears weren’t from the pain of losing my virginity. They were from thinking that tonight might be all I ever have of him.
21
Kale
“Now?”
“Not yet.”
“Now?”
“In a minute.” My arm is getting tired.
“I want to put it now.”
“Wait...just...a….sec...okay...now.” I step back and let Colby dump the container of milk into the egg batter I’ve whipped up.
He pours it in with glee and then motions for me to start mixing again.
“What do we do next?” I ask.
“Add salt and pepper to taste,” he reads. “What’s that mean? Are we supposed to drink the eggs? Summer says never to eat raw eggs. I could get salmon poisoning.”
“Salmonella,” I correct.
“That’s what I said.” The boy scowls at me.
I start to argue, but then realize that the minute you get into a debate with a seven-year-old, you’ve lost. “Let’s just pour some in and call it good, eh?”
Cooking isn’t my thing, which is why I’ve always had live-in housekeepers—that and this house would be caked with more dust than the surface of the moon if I didn’t have help. But an omelet seemed like something even I can make with the aid of a video on YouTube and my trusty assistant. I don’t feel comfortable with him in my shop yet, but in the kitchen, he’s more capable than I am. He found all the ingredients, looked up the recipe on my laptop, and even showed me how to turn on the stove--all life skills he’d learned from his sister, whom he idolizes.
“Are you sure Summer’s okay? She never sleeps in,” he asks as I deposit the egg mixture into the hot pan.
“Yeah. She’s fine.” I can’t exactly tell Colby why his sister is knocked out cold so he’ll have to take my word for it. I don’t think a seven-year-old needs a blow-by-blow description of how many times I pounded my cock into his sister’s sweet hole both last night and then again before the dawn broke through the dark sky. I’m sure that would traumatize him his whole life. I know I would’ve become a monk if I ever saw my parents getting it on and Summer’s his mom as much as his real one--wherever she is.
“Kale, do you miss your dad? Even though he hurt you, do you ever miss him?” The boy’s voice becomes small. Sometimes you get scars on the inside and they’re just as bad as the ones everyone can see. Maybe worse, though, because the inside scars are hidden and you think they’re hideous so you hide away from the world but once out in the light, they don’t seem so bad. I rub my hand over my cheek. Summer didn’t seem to mind them.
“Yeah, who wouldn’t miss their parent? No matter how shitty they are, they’re still your parent.”
“Yeah. That’s right and besides, I have Summer, and she’s as good as anyone. Your eggs are going to burn.”
“Fuck.” I grab the spatula and flip the egg mixture over. It cracks in about three pieces and looks brown on the bottom instead of the golden yellow color the omelet on the internet has. I make a face. “You think this is any good?”
Colby’s small face presses against my elbow as he peers into the pan. “Summer won’t mind.”
I don’t know about that, but it’s not like my next batch will be much better. You’d think someone who worked with fire would be better at cooking, right?
“I thought you’d be better at this,” Colby says, voicing my own thoughts out loud.
“You and me both, kid. Get the plate.”
The boy scampers off and gathers the dining utensils. “Summer only makes me breakfast in bed when it’s my birthday or Christmas. Is it your birthday?”
“Nah, but it’s a day of celebration, that’s for sure.” I grin to myself. The first day I fucked Summer should be a national holiday, but since I doubt I’ll be able to convince Chief Dane of this, I’ll have to be in charge of the annual celebrations.
“Why’s that?”
“Because it’s the first day I made breakfast in bed for someone,” I improvise.
After a brief moment of consideration, Colby seems to accept this excuse. He’s seven. Random made-up holidays sound good to him.
I put the egg mixture, toast, jam, and coffee on a tray. “Ready, kid?”
“Ready.” He grabs the juice and together we march toward the west wing. I’m going to have to move them again to the east side. As I’m contemplating how to broach this with Summer, the security alert on my phone chimes, There’s an intruder at the gate.
Colby stops short. “Who’s that?”
“It’s the AI security system. Here.” I lower the tray. “Put the juice down and grab my phone out of my pocket.”
He does as he’s told. A video image pops up and I see Chief Dane at the gate. “Ignore it and let’s get these eggs to Summer before they turn cold.”