Total pages in book: 110
Estimated words: 103530 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 518(@200wpm)___ 414(@250wpm)___ 345(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 103530 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 518(@200wpm)___ 414(@250wpm)___ 345(@300wpm)
Could we? Or would she brush me off?
“Nobody can talk to Charlotte,” Scott answered my unspoken question with something like resignation. “I mean, if you can, that would be good for her. But she’s built this shell around her… None of us have ever been able to get in.”
I didn’t want to suggest that I would be the one who succeeded. It wouldn’t just be insulting; it would be dishonest. I couldn’t commit to saving anybody when so much of my private self was unsalvageable.
And the worst part was, I wanted to try. Not because I wanted to prove anything to Scott or to myself, but because the thought of Charlotte being unhappy made me instantly miserable.
“I had no idea about any of this. I’ll definitely keep it in mind. But all I want to do is show your sister a good time. Tropical beach, a drink with a little umbrella in it, and good company,” I promised.
“Yeah, that’s it. You’re not going to do anything else,” he muttered.
“That’s none of your business and you don’t want to know about it, per our earlier conversations.” I was following our agreement to the letter, so he had to, as well. “You’re afraid this is going to go badly. I get that. And I’m overstepping so many boundaries. I understand that, too. I’m being a selfish asshole—”
“Thank you.”
“But,” I said firmly, “I l—”
“No!”
“Like,” I said, but my stomach lodged in my throat. “I like your sister a lot and this arrangement is making both of us happy. Why, other than the fact that she’s your little sister, do you have a problem with this?”
“I don’t know! It’s got to be in the bro code, right?” Scott sputtered.
“We’re almost forty years old.” Too old for anything like a “bro code.”
Fifteen years older than Charlotte. Was I one of those creepy guys who were only attracted to extremely young women?
I shook myself out of that preposterous thought. I’d had sexual relationships with women older than me. I’d never specifically sought out any sex partner based on their youth.
“Again. You’re forty. She’s twenty-five. I wish… Look, I want you to be happy, I want Charlotte to be happy.”
“But not together.”
“No, that’s not it.” He sighed in frustration. “I want you to be traditionally happy. I want to know that if you’re interested in her, you’re serious about her.”
I was starting to understand the real issue. “You want to see into the future.”
“I’ve had enough change in my life, okay? I want some things to stay the same.”
A shock of clarity hit me. An unpleasant one. My stomach turned. How could I have let things get this far? Nothing I had done concerning Charlotte had been okay, from the very first moment I’d talked to her. I’d promised my friend something and broke that promise less than twelve hours later. And despite knowing that Scott wasn’t fully okay with what was going on, I’d ignored his discomfort. He’d been reeling from being left at the altar and most of our conversations had centered around me trying to convince him that it was cool for me to fuck his sister.
I needed to break things off with Charlotte.
* * * *
“Did you tell that woman from the other night that I was your girlfriend?”
I blinked at Charlotte’s accusatory tone and expression via Facetime. “No?”
She narrowed her eyes.
“I didn’t,” I swore. And I hadn’t. “I told her you were one of my regular partners. She confused that with ‘girlfriend.’ Which, by the way, is why Amanda won’t be happening again.”
Charlotte pressed her hand to her collar bones and heaved a huge sigh of relief. “Thank god.” She quickly added, “Not about the not seeing her again part. I don’t care who you see.”
While I supposed that should be reassuring, something about Charlotte made me want her to care. “It would be okay if you were a little jealous.”
She laughed. “Oh, is that a wounded ego I’m hearing?”
“You know, most phone calls start out with ‘hello.’” I was a little taken aback by the ferocity with which she objected to being called my girlfriend. No, more than taken aback. I was nearly offended.
And I had no right to be. Because that wasn’t the relationship we had, and it wasn’t an eventuality, either. We’d both been very clear on what we were.
I was calling to break up with her. I shouldn’t care if she wanted to be my girlfriend or not.
“Hello,” she said sweetly. “I wasn’t expecting to hear from you.”
“I know, sorry about the total lack of notice.” On the other hand, it was far better than a “we need to talk” text.
“You don’t need an appointment to fuck me, Mr. M.”
Her giggle destroyed me.
“This isn’t a sex call, I’m afraid.” The expression, “like ripping off a band-aid” came to mind. But I was the kind of flinching coward who never ripped them off. “I talked to your brother—”