Total pages in book: 62
Estimated words: 58142 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 291(@200wpm)___ 233(@250wpm)___ 194(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 58142 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 291(@200wpm)___ 233(@250wpm)___ 194(@300wpm)
“Okay,” Maddox says. “Maybe sometime soon.”
I nod and manage a small smile. I’d actually love to see them perform again, but now that I’ve been with them, the idea of other women yelling for them, or seeing them bring other women on stage, seems like it would be a million times more upsetting than it was before. If I had pangs of jealousy before they were “mine” — and I know they’re not mine — I’m afraid to find out how I’d feel about their adoring fans now.
I know it makes no sense at all that part of me has been secretly hoping they’d find another woman so that I don’t have to eventually break things off with them, while another part of me wants to brand them all with tattoos on their foreheads that say “Mine” so no one else will even look at them. I’m a mess of contradictions.
The door chimes, and for a moment, I’m afraid that my parents have returned to start an argument, but luckily, it’s just other customers. “Would you like any bakery?” I ask the men.
Maddox winks, Chase smiles, and Diesel briefly touches my hand as Dodge shakes his head. “Nope. We just came in to see your beautiful face.” And then they’re gone.
25
Getting serious
That evening, I’m just about to sit down to soup and sandwiches with Rachel when there’s a knock on the door. Neither of us are expecting anyone, but she typically has more visitors than me, so she gets up to see who’s there.
“Ooh,” she says, as she looks through the peephole.
“Ooh?” That’s not a typical response to seeing who’s at the door.
I hear a woman’s voice ask for me by name, but before I make it to the door, Rachel is already holding a vase filled with an arrangement of roses. She thanks the unseen delivery person, closes the door, and hands the flowers to me. “These are for you,” she says, her voice filled with excitement and curiosity.
“For me?” I’ve never received flowers before, and these are stunning. There must be a dozen red roses in the vase, along with delicate white baby’s breath and greenery. I take them to the kitchen counter and free the vase from the box that supports it. There’s a little white envelope on a pick among the flowers, and inside a card that simply says, “From all of us.”
Of course, there was never any doubt as to who they were from, but why are they sending me flowers?
“Are those from your guys?” Rachel asks.
“I don’t have guys.”
“You know what I mean, and you definitely do,” she says. “Even if you thought otherwise, those flowers tell a different story.”
They’ll be at the club, but it’s nowhere near showtime yet, so I send off a message to our group text: I received the flowers. They’re beautiful. Thank you.
Chase: Good. Glad you like them.
Me: Why did you send them?
Dodge: Just because we were thinking about you.
Diesel: Though if we sent flowers every time we thought about you, you’d need to move into a mansion to hold them all.
I send back a little blushing smiley-face emoji, because that’s exactly how my face looks at the moment.
Maddox: Have a good evening
Rachel is watching me as I set down my phone. “So you’re spending most nights with them and now they’re sending flowers. Looks like things are getting serious.” When my smile falls, she asks, “What’s wrong? Isn’t that a good thing?”
I bite my lower lip, thinking. “It’s a complicated thing.”
“Why is that? I thought you liked them.”
“I do,” I say. “I like them a lot, but we don’t have a future together, and if these flowers mean they’re getting more serious, then that’s a problem.”
“Red roses mean love,” Rachel says matter-of-factly.
Of course, I probably shouldn’t be reading anything into the color of flowers, but if that’s true, then I have a really big problem. A very uncomfortable thought prods at the edges of my mind, and even though I won’t let myself acknowledge it, my heart knows the truth without me having to process the thought.
If I stopped and let myself feel all of my feelings, I’d have to confess that I’m in love with them.
But … I am not thinking that thought, and I am not acknowledging that feeling.
“We should eat our soup before it gets cold,” I say, leaving the flowers on the kitchen counter and returning to the dining table.
She’s quiet for a couple of minutes, but then, hesitantly, Rachel asks, “Why don’t you have a future together?”
I swallow my bite of sandwich and take a sip of water before answering. “Unfortunately, there are a lot of reasons. One is their job. I mostly try not to think about it, but I can’t imagine ever being comfortable being in a committed relationship with men who take off their clothes for crowds of other women.”