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)
Archer’s other hand relocates itself to my hip. “Where does my girlfriend wanna go for our first date?”
His simple question attached to a loving smile render me momentarily speechless.
Is this really happening?! Is this actually real? Is this a dream?! Fuck me, is this like one of those books where everything gets really amazing and then you turn the page to find the whole thing was a hallucination?! I hate that shit. I really do.
“Keep in mind, I’ve only got like forty bucks,” he playfully informs, “and that you gotta drive until I get my license.” Laughter leaves us both, yet it’s him who speaks again. “Is it just me or did that shit sound very broke guy junior promish?”
Loud giggles flood the kitchen at the same time I wrap my arms around his frame. “Broke or not I’d let you take me to prom.”
Archer coyly smiles.
“Where’d you get forty bucks?” I curiously inquire.
“The neighbor across the street, Ada, gave me a couple twenties for returning her cat that got into our garage while I was tossing the empty paint cans. I told her it wasn’t necessary, but she basically started to cry when I refused.”
Grinning widely can’t be helped. “I love hearing you say our.”
Another sheepish smile precedes his next statement. “I don’t love only having forty bucks to take you out.”
“You don’t have to ever have any money to ‘take me out’, Archer. Us going out like a couple is all I really want.”
“I got that, sweetheart; however, it doesn’t change the fact I want to pay for shit. For you. For me. For us. Our home.”
More urgency to get him into bed is ignited, yet I ignore it to provide the comfort he needs. “One bite at a time, remember?”
I’m given a slow nod in return.
“How about I make us some coffee and breakfast and we can spitball ideas for what to do after the dreaded DMV and cellphone store?”
Archer settles both his hands at the small of my back. “Counteroffer. I make us coffee. I make us breakfast. And I talk you out of this cellphone nonsense before we discuss our date.”
“Declined.”
He struggles not to laugh at the retort. “Can I at least make coffee?” His grip grows unexpectedly tighter. “I really like making it for you every morning.”
Swooning can’t be denied, and neither can his request. “Dibs on the Bookdragon mug.”
The corner of his lip kicks upward in a playful fashion. “Only because you’re my girlfriend.”
Giggles immediately fill the air, increasing in frequency courtesy of a chaste kiss and a gentle pat to the ass.
I love the way that label sounds. And something tells me I’m gonna love the way it feels even more.
Chapter 13
Archer
The DMV is awful, but at least I get my license out of it. Paper for the time being yet knowing it’ll be mailed to Jaye’s house – our house – does fill me with a sense of…belonging. Having a place in this world again. And that is something I haven’t felt in far too long.
Between you and me, not completely comfortable calling it our house. Come on. Yeah, I live there and I fix shit and change shit and organize shit, but that doesn’t make it part mine, right? What? Why are you agreeing with her?
The cell store is somehow worse than the fucking DMV. I’m not entirely sure if it’s because they seem extra smug when using tech terms, I’m unfamiliar with or because my girlfriend and I – fuck, I can’t believe I have a girlfriend again – not so quietly won’t stop arguing about my need for a stupid phone.
Do I need one? No. If she needs to reach me, she can call the house phone or email me on the tablet she’s practically given me. If there’s an emergency the landline works just fine. Would it be nice to text her or get texts? Sure. But it’s not fucking necessary no matter how hard she pouts that it is.
Leaving the store with the cheapest smart phone possible is the best compromise we manage to reach. She hates that it’s not something more recent while I hate having anything at all. We’re both unhappy; however, we’re still relieved the other person is somewhat satisfied.
Paying for an early dinner from Piggy Bank, a bacon themed food truck, and eating at a nearby picnic table lifts my spirits back the level they were before all the errands began. The ability to be able to buy her a meal – just one fucking meal – feels like a medal of honor has been pinned to my chest. Like an accommodation from the highest powers has been given. Maybe I can’t take her to fancy fucking wine bars or high-priced steak dinners, but I can do something. And being able to do something beats the fuck out of being able to do nothing.