Total pages in book: 70
Estimated words: 66233 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 331(@200wpm)___ 265(@250wpm)___ 221(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 66233 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 331(@200wpm)___ 265(@250wpm)___ 221(@300wpm)
“I don’t have any clean clothes, and I need to check my mail.”
“All right, tonight, we’ll stay at your house, and tomorrow, we can head to mine after breakfast.”
“Okay,” I agree before I even know what I’m saying, because, like a glutton for punishment, I’ll take any opportunity I have to spend time with him consequences be damned.
Chapter 29
Denial is not a river in Egypt
With Jace right behind me, I put my key in the lock for my door and push it in after turning the handle. Switching on the light, I stand back as he carries our bags inside, then I close the door behind us and flip the night latch into place out of habit. Even though I slept on the plane while he worked, I’m still exhausted from traveling.
Or maybe I’m drained from the emotional roller coaster I went on today.
Either way, I want nothing more than to eat something, shower, and curl up in bed with him.
“This is cute.” He looks around, and I take in what I’ve seen every single day for the last six years. My small living room with a couch I got for a steal from Ikea, my entertainment center that holds all my prized history books along with the plants kids have gotten me over the years, and my TV. With the kitchen just steps away and divided by only a half wall, I know he can see my open-face cabinets and all the dinnerware I’ve purchased from flea markets around the city because I’ve been convinced more than once that I’ll get home and find out I own a cup or a plate that should be in a museum somewhere.
“Thanks.” I walk to my bedroom, which is just a few steps away, and flip on the light there before I kick off my shoes and take off the sweater I wore over my dress, tossing it onto the end of my bed.
When I walk back into the living room a minute later, I find him looking at some of the photos I have on the walls, and he smiles at me. When he told me that we would stay at my place tonight, I didn’t think about how weird it would be having him in my space amongst all my things.
“How long have you been living here?”
“Six years, give or take a few months.” I move to stand next to him, and with the ease of familiarity, he draws me in against his side, and I look up at him. “When I graduated from college, I moved in with my mom, but after I got a job, she told me that she was going to charge me almost triple what I would pay for a mortgage or rent anywhere else.” I laugh at the look he gives me. “I know it sounds like she was being harsh, but it was her way of forcing me to spread my wings. I needed it; otherwise, I would have lived with her forever, and she knew that.”
“So you have an issue with change?”
“No.” I frown at him. “I just….”
Darn, I do have an issue with change.
I hate change more than anything, which is why I stayed with my ex even when I knew he was a dirtbag. And why I haven’t moved over to the high school to teach history when it’s been a dream of mine, and why I haven’t done a dozen other things I’ve wanted to do over the years.
“That doesn't matter.” I walk to the kitchen, ignoring his quiet laughter as he follows, and I open the drawer where I keep the menus for the restaurants near me. “I moved in here, and I’m saving for a house that I will likely never be able to afford, because let’s be honest. I’m a teacher and have no way to pay a million-dollar mortgage in this area. But—” I look up at him. “—I will, however, have some money saved for when I retire one day, so there is that.”
“There’s that.” He walks up behind me and wraps his arms around my middle. “What are we eating for dinner?"
“Your choice. Chinese, Indian, pizza, or there’s a Subway just down the street. What are you in the mood for?”
“You.” He nibbles my neck.
“Chinese it is, since they deliver,” I say, and I feel his lips smile against my skin.
“Sounds good.”
Turning in his arms, I look up at him, and as his gaze roams over my face and that familiar soft look fills his eyes, I want to ask what he’s thinking, but fear keeps the question trapped in the back of my throat. “I should start laundry and run out to check my mail.”
“What do you want me to do?”
“You can order dinner for us.” I lean up, touching my lips to his, then scoot around him.