Total pages in book: 46
Estimated words: 45361 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 227(@200wpm)___ 181(@250wpm)___ 151(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 45361 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 227(@200wpm)___ 181(@250wpm)___ 151(@300wpm)
Tess walks around the kitchen divider and wraps her arms around me. “You know it’s only going to get better, right? There’s going to be so much love in your life.”
“It’s not too icky?”
She gives me a playful nudge as the hug ends. “Ickiness doesn’t make sense when you’re both this happy, and if people have a problem with it, screw them. They’ll never be as in love as you and Miles are.”
“In love,” I repeat, nodding.
“What is it?” she asks, walking back around the divider and picking up her cocoa.
“I’ve had so many chances to say it.”
I don’t outline these. It would mean delving into the private parts of our relationship, like last night when I knew Miles would be returning late from the office. I went to a lingerie store and bought something that highlighted my curves, an elegant piece with a bow at my cleavage, turning myself into a gift for my man to unwrap.
When we made love, I went on top, all my virgin nerves seeming so distant, so pointless, as I rocked atop him. Ultimately, our lips fused, and the pleasure became too frantic. We couldn’t kiss anymore. As we both reached our finish, I almost whispered the words.
“He still hasn’t said it?” Tess asks.
I shake my head. “But there’s no reason to stress, right? Maybe he’s waiting for the right time. It doesn’t mean he’s having doubts. It doesn’t mean he rushed too fast into this, thinking it would never work, and now that it has worked, he wants it to end. Does it?”
“No,” Tess says, looking pointedly at me. “You need to remind yourself of that. You’ll be flinging L-words like Cupid arrows soon enough. Don’t worry.”
“I thought you said we were going to the restaurant?” I ask as Miles turns toward the suburbs.
We’re going to finish our date—the one Graham’s friends interrupted last time.
He smiles across at me. He’s wearing a dark green shirt, tight enough to show the body that will never stop igniting hunger in me. His hair is neatly combed, and his face is clean-shaven. Though he’s smiling, there’s something else in his expression, a dark quality I can’t quite identify. If I didn’t know better, I’d say he’s nervous, but we have no reason to be anymore.
“A little detour won’t hurt,” he says.
“You’re being very secretive.”
“Can’t a step-uncle surprise his niece once in a while?”
I laugh. That’s just one of the fantastic things that have happened since we got Mom’s blessing. We’re able to joke about the whole uncle-niece thing. It’s a way to disarm it, turn it from something big and imposing to a harmless byproduct of our love. Our relationship, I mentally correct.
“Fair enough, but isn’t a step-niece allowed to be curious?”
He reaches over and grazes my leg with his hand. I’m familiar with the fleeting, tingling contact. He touches me, pulling away quickly to stop himself from getting carried away. It’s just how we are in public, knowing that the heat will take over if we touch each other for too long. At home, all it takes is one of us to glide our hand in just the right way, and then we’re completely lost to each other, consumed by each other.
“So, how’s work?” I ask.
He seems relieved about the subject change, telling me about an apartment complex he’s currently working on.
“The city wants to cut corners,” he says, “but there will be hell to pay if they try that crap with me. There’s no reason low-income housing has to be something the residents are ashamed of.”
“You’re such a good person.”
He smirks. “Well, thanks.”
“No, I mean it. Why didn’t you tell me about your charity work before?”
He shrugs. “My old man taught us never to brag. I guess it stuck.”
“Are we going to Mom and Noah’s?” I ask as we drive down the same road which leads to their house. Their house. I stopped thinking of it as mine the second I moved into the apartment with Miles.
“Not exactly,” he says.
We drive in the opposite direction from their house, down the long road leading to the four- and five-bedroom homes.
“Tess and I used to ride our bikes here as kids,” I tell him. “We’d invent stories about the people living in these houses, the amazing lives they must’ve had. Once, Tess wanted to sneak into one to see what it was like.”
“Did you?” he asks.
“No, I convinced her it was a bad idea. I told her that, one day, we could afford a place like this for ourselves.”
“You can afford anything you want now,” he says. “What’s mine is yours.”
“I still want to make my own way,” I tell him.
“You will, but with my support, you’ll never have to worry about derailing your dreams. You’ll have the freedom you deserve to follow your passion.”
“This is the house,” I say when he pulls up outside the largest in the area. “The one we were going to sneak into!”