Total pages in book: 87
Estimated words: 85725 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 429(@200wpm)___ 343(@250wpm)___ 286(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 85725 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 429(@200wpm)___ 343(@250wpm)___ 286(@300wpm)
“But-”
“You owe me nothing.”
“But-”
“I’m your housemate, not your boyfriend.” His crisp nod hurts as much as the emotionless tone. “It’s none of my business who you go share wine with or have dinner with or put on dresses for.”
“Arch-”
“You know, I’m not actually in the mood to celebrate.” The grimace on his face doesn’t waiver. “I think I’m just gonna crash early. It’s trash day tomorrow, and I like to sweep the area before Mrs. Prescott comes outside to remind me of what a worthless human being I am.”
My mouth bobs to speak, but he leaves no opportunity.
“Enjoy your wine. There’s some homemade chili in the crockpot if you’re hungry.”
The airiest squeak escapes.
“I’ll do the dishes in the morning.”
All I manage to do is repeat the sound.
“Night, Jaye.”
Being given his sweat-caked backside to say goodnight to rather than his face tells me everything I need to know.
I screwed this up.
Someway.
Some fucking how.
I fucked up my chance for us to be more.
The sound of the garage door being slammed shut has me squeezing my eyes closed.
Well, there goes that whole spill my guts plan. I guess the only thing left to do now is drink an entire bottle of red. Alone. On the only thing I like almost as much as him in this house. My purple couch.
Chapter 12
Jaye
What’s a woman to do when she can’t sleep? Well, reading is the obvious answer, but what am I supposed to do when that doesn’t work? Oh. I mean…yeah…I could do that to see if it helps, except I’m not in my bed. I’m on my couch. My very comfy, very feels so much better when I’m sharing it with Archer, couch.
Rolling over onto my side, I check the time on my cell again.
I wish I could time travel. While time traveling novels aren’t my favorite – the rules are just so shitty in most – I did really enjoy The Time Traveler’s Wife, although sometimes it was more heartache than I wanted.
Two minutes.
Two whole fucking minutes have passed since I last looked.
Hey, I guess I should be grateful, it’s not going backwards?
Unlocking the device reveals to me the silly selfie of me and Archer hiding our faces behind books during one of our reading sessions.
Sometimes after dinner instead of TV or air guitar rock battles or card games, we’ll have a book date – er – session. We’ll have dessert – typically cookies I made earlier in the week – and hot chocolate – homemade usually – cuddle under the same blanket and just read, stopping only to gush to the other one about a scene that we love or a topic that we wanna discuss. Do we usually get very far in the books? Nah. However, we do talk. And talk. And talk for hours sometimes. I love talking to him. It’s so easy and natural. There’s only one other person that’s ever been that easy to talk to in my life.
With that fact in mind, I hit the number two button on my speed dial.
You know number one is voicemail. That’s default setting shit.
There’s a single full ring before my dad’s voice is flooding my system with a much-needed feeling of tenderness. “Hey, sugar.”
“Hey, Dad.”
“What’s bothering my little girl so early this morning?”
I keep the device pressed tightly to my ear as I close my eyes. “And how do you know something is bothering me? How do you know I didn’t just call to ask you a cop question related to the Alex Cross novel I’m reading?”
“Because I know you,” he casually states. “Because I know book calls start with an exclamation like ‘Ohmygod’ or ‘You won’t believe this’ or a long drawn ‘Dadddddddd’. Because I know frustrated work-related calls have you huff and the sound of cookie pans getting slammed around is the background. Because I know the only time that I get a ‘Hey, Dad’ is when you’re sad or unsure about something.”
A heavy sigh thoughtlessly escapes. “Why are you such a good detective?”
“I credit my skills to Columbo and Shaft.”
Giggles can’t be stopped from joining the conversation. “Those are very different people, Dad.”
“You asked.”
More laughter springs loose, shifting some of the tension out of my system.
“Now, you knew I would be up working on paperwork, because when your mom’s on call at the hospital, I take the same hours here at the precinct-”
“So that you can be closer to her if she needs you.”
“So that we can be on the same sleep schedule,” he playfully tries to hide the truth.
They’ve always hated having to be away from one another for long periods like that. Ever since they first started dating – according to Mom. I’ve always thought it was cute and sweet. Hoped I’d find a love like that. Maybe I have? I do…hate to be away from Archer for too long. I miss hearing his voice or hearing him laugh or hearing him grunt in unhappiness. And God, when I’m away do I miss his face. That sweet smile. That smug smirk. Even the bashful grin he gets when he’s been complimented. You know it kills me that I can’t text him in the middle of a workday like a normal person? I hate that I have to call my housephone and hope he answers or shoot him an email to the account we set up for potential job offers. Hm. Let’s put get him a cellphone on this morning’s errands list, too.