Total pages in book: 132
Estimated words: 135442 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 677(@200wpm)___ 542(@250wpm)___ 451(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 135442 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 677(@200wpm)___ 542(@250wpm)___ 451(@300wpm)
“I got some money put away. Was already looking to use it to invest in something. We’ll figure it out, what you invested, what I invest, and we’ll decide where we’re at when we unload the house. If I go all in with you on the next house you flip, or if I just take my percentage.”
Was he for real?
“Are you serious?” I asked.
“Yes,” he answered. “Unless it pisses you off like Smithie giving you money you think you didn’t earn, but the man is probably the only strip club owner on the planet who gives PTO, and you haven’t run out of PTO yet, so you did. And yes, even if it does piss you off, but then we’ll talk about it.”
“Boone, that would be…it would be…”
I couldn’t even finish.
It would be so amazing if he did that.
Because I’d have the money to push forward instead of stagnate, or worse, cash in those savings bonds mom gave me for a rainy day, or even worse, take another loan out on the house.
But more, it would mean he believed in my dream.
In me.
“It would be a good investment,” Boone finished for me, turning the omelet he was making (today, cheese and mushroom omelet, turkey sausage patties, accompanied by a smoothie). “I’ve seen what you want to do with it, and in that neighborhood, it’s gonna sell fast and you’re gonna make a whack.”
It would be a good investment.
I’ve seen what you want to do with it…and you’re gonna make a whack.
“Boone,” I called.
He was sliding the omelet on a plate with the sausages.
Now, this might be gross and far too gushy for some, but at breakfast, we ate off the same plate.
We were both eating the same thing, and we did it close, so why dirty another plate?
That said, the smoothie he poured into two glasses, because even if he’d had his tongue down my throat and up my pussy, and vice versa (switching out my pussy for his cock, obviously) no one wanted to court someone else’s backwash.
He looked to me.
“You want a blowjob while you eat breakfast?” I asked.
He smiled huge.
Then he brought the food over to me, saying, “No, but you could find some creative way to show your gratitude tonight.”
That was oh…so…totally…happening.
It was me who smiled huge then.
He bent in and kissed me before he set the plate down by me and went to get the smoothies.
I pulled out utensils thinking every love language was Boone’s love language.
He was touchy and affectionate. He gave compliments easily. He cooked, but also (yes, it was a Boone thing, not a Dom thing) he loaded my toothbrush for me if we hit the bathroom together in the morning. We talked and we did it often, and when we did, he listened. And he’d shown at my pad on Wednesday night to pick me up and he’d had a bouquet of flowers he said he was “out and I saw them, and they reminded me of you.”
It was a big bunch of pale peach, true peach and orange roses.
They were gorgeous.
All this was awesome.
But making it better, it made it easy for me to do all of that too (though I’d never given him anything, which was cause for concern, because he seemed like a man who had it all and what did I do when it was his birthday?).
It made it easy to do it and it made an us that wasn’t lopsided.
Like I liked to cuddle, and he didn’t (I did and so did he).
He was hot and he probably knew it, but it never hurt reminding him (and he was always telling me how gorgeous he thought I was).
He was fucked up, and had his ways of coping, I was fucked up too, and had mine, but now that we’d gotten over that hump, neither of us had a problem with talking shit out (though, it must be said, I had not broached the Jeb subject yet).
We weren’t dark and light, fitting perfectly.
We both had our dark.
We both had our light.
We just fit.
Perfectly.
“You’re in a daze again,” Boone noted.
I focused on him to see he was eating and watching me.
Then I looked at the roses that were still beautiful and on the end of his counter.
Back to him, I said, “Did I tell you how much I liked those roses, honey?”
“Yeah,” he replied softly.
“Just making sure,” I muttered, then forked into the omelet.
He slid some of my hair behind my ear.
And that was that.
Us.
Perfect.
* * *
It was Axl on my security detail that day, the first time he’d been on it since Boone lost his mind about his buds being mean to me.
Mag had apologized, though I didn’t think that was necessary.
Mo hadn’t needed to apologize because he’d always been cool.
And Auggie had given me a big hug that I took as an apology.