Total pages in book: 79
Estimated words: 76749 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 384(@200wpm)___ 307(@250wpm)___ 256(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 76749 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 384(@200wpm)___ 307(@250wpm)___ 256(@300wpm)
“Not mad, disappointed.”
“I am sorry. This game was difficult, and I am tired.”
“Not everything is about you, you know,” I said, staring straight ahead. I had all kinds of shit I was dealing with that he knew nothing about, and while that was partly my fault, he never even asked. He knew I had issues with my ex, but it never came up, as if the only thing that mattered was him.
“Your back is okay?”
He glanced at me and while I appreciated the sentiment, I just didn’t have it in me to point out that my back wasn’t the only problem in my life.
“Yeah, my back is okay.”
He pulled up in front of Wes and Hadley’s and I got out my keys. “Are you still coming over?”
“Do you want me to?” He met my gaze questioningly.
“Yes, but I think we need to make it an early night. I’m tired too.”
“Okay. I will follow you.”
I got into my Mercedes and started the engine.
I was falling in love with Lars, but I needed him to be there for me the way I was always there for him. The problem was that I didn’t think he had a clue what I needed, and I wasn’t sure I had it in me to fight with both Lars and Hugh at the same time. Something had to give, and right now it felt like it was going to be me.
Chapter Twenty
Lars
* * *
Mavericks Group Text
Wes: Everyone’s invited to my house for Thanksgiving. We’re having it catered, so no one needs to bring anything. RSVP by a week before so we order enough food.
Boone: Will there be any single chicks there?
Wes: Stay away from Hadley’s friends. I don’t need that headache.
Boone: Ouch.
Wes: You can find hookups on Tinder, dude.
Boone: You were more fun before you got married.
Nash: Hey Boone, I know someone you can hook up with. She’s older, but you should give it a try.
Boone: It’s Mistress Sandra, isn’t it?
Nash: It might be.
Boone: Fuck you.
* * *
“We could go shopping,” I suggested to Sheridan as we ate omelets and cinnamon rolls for breakfast at her kitchen table. “For Christmas.”
Her eyes widened and she broke into a grin. “Really?”
“Yes. It takes long time for packages to arrive in Sweden. I need to buy gifts for my family now so Rosalina can mail.”
“I love shopping. You have no idea. It’s one of my favorite things to do.”
I looked over at her. She was wearing a fluffy white robe, her face was clean of makeup, and her hair was still a little tousled from sleep. And I couldn’t help but stare. I thought she was most beautiful this way. Probably because she looked so happy. Lazy Sunday mornings were rare for us—this was only the second one we’d spent together in more than two months of dating.
“I did not know that,” I said, getting up to refill my coffee.
She shrugged. “I never mentioned it because I figured shopping wasn’t high on your list of fun things to do.”
“You are right. But I do like Christmas shopping. Annalise said she would like an Avengers necklace, so we must find one.”
“I want to get my mom new living room furniture, but I don’t need to look for that today.” She cleared her throat and said, “Which reminds me, my mom wants to meet you.”
“I would like that.”
Nodding, she said, “I’ll tell her we can come over for dinner soon. She’s pretty excited.”
“Why?”
“Um, because my boyfriend is a pro hockey player who looks like Thor?”
“I am your boyfriend?”
She grinned at me. “I think so? If you’re okay with that?”
I smiled back. “I am, because that means you are my girlfriend.”
“Now that that’s settled, let’s go shopping. As soon as I finish this cinnamon roll, I’ll go get ready. This is going to be so much fun.”
I smiled, glad that she liked the idea. I owed her one for being so grouchy lately. The pressure just kept building—it wasn’t just the media hounding me nonstop now. An autism advocacy group had also targeted me with a campaign on Twitter. According to them, I had a responsibility to address the speculation that I had autism, and not sweep it under the rug like I was ashamed.
There was nothing to address, though, because I still didn’t know. I had an appointment with David at the end of next week to finally get my test results. I wasn’t nervous about it; I just wanted to know one way or the other.
Sheridan and I dressed in warm clothes, coats, hats, and gloves. The winter cold had set in, and we were heading to an outdoor shopping mall.
“You know what’s nice?” she said, breaking the silence on our drive.
“The way you sucked me off last night,” I answered. “That was very nice.”
One corner of her mouth quirked up in a smile and she gave me a look. I’d noticed that it made her happy when I commented on how great she was in bed. She said her ex had never had a single nice thing to say in that area, and I wanted her to know how wrong he was.