Total pages in book: 120
Estimated words: 114211 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 571(@200wpm)___ 457(@250wpm)___ 381(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 114211 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 571(@200wpm)___ 457(@250wpm)___ 381(@300wpm)
But now’s not the time for admiring it. “Anthony, babe …”
“What? Spit it out. I’m losin’ my head here.”
I meet his eyes. “I’m considering … not going back home.”
He looks like he’s holding his breath. “Considering …?”
“Yeah. Strongly considering. More than considering. It was a thought in my head the whole way here from Kansas, in fact. Ever since I left my brother and my mom. Seeing how much the two of them have been thriving … made me think. A lot.” I shake my head with a smile. “They’re my family and I’ll always love them … but I don’t think they’re where my heart’s at. Not anymore.” I squeeze his hands. “It’s here. Right here with you. I—”
“Fuck,” hisses Anthony.
I just realized he’s crying. “Babe?”
“You made me cry. I’m fuckin’ cryin’. You went and … all this night, this whole night … I’ve been feelin’ pain inside, feelin’ like I gotta savor every damned minute I got with you, ‘cause you would be soarin’ right back outta here the second our week’s up, and I’ve been goin’ crazy, preparin’ for it already, knowin’ how bad it’s gonna gut me … and then you go and drop this shit on me? You’re considering staying? Don’t consider it any fuckin’ longer. No more considerin’. Just stay,” he demands, bringing his hands up to my face suddenly. “Stay with me, Bridge, or so help me—”
“Anthony …”
“Don’t consider it another second. Just jump on the train for good, no stops, all the way to the end with me, Bridge.” He thrusts a kiss on me every time I try to speak, causing me to laugh. Then he stops suddenly, finding my eyes. “I fuckin’ love you.”
I stare back at him, the rest of my breath stolen out of me the second those words leave his lips.
“Just stay,” he begs me.
Six months later.
EPILOGUE
ANTHONY
Wake up before the alarm goes off.
Pull on my shorts and a tank.
Tug on my running shoes.
Grab two bottles of water out of the fridge.
“Mornin’, slowpoke,” I greet a sleepy-eyed Bridger, appearing in the hall in just his boxers.
He laughs when he sees me already jogging in place to get my heart rate up, ready to go. “Seems like someone’s already popped the batteries up their butt.”
It’s our joke now. Ever since I said it. I can never outrun the words I let fly outta my mouth in the past.
I come around the kitchen counter and right up to my love to place an energizing kiss on his lips.
It’s like a shot of espresso, how he lights right up. “Well, good morning to you, too,” he greets me with more energy, as if seeing me now for the first time.
I reach around and smack his ass. “Up and at ‘em, babe.” I jog to the door, then turn. “And if you keep up with me, maybe you’ll get some of this when we get back,” I tell him with a smack of my own ass.
His eyes drop down to my tight jogging shorts.
The growl that rumbles deep within him is all I need to hear.
Then I’m out the door to greet the sunrise, and not very much longer, Bridger’s right behind me.
The springtime air is crisp and downright breezy, making the perfect atmosphere for our bright and bushytailed asses to go jogging. We don’t go as early in the mornings as Bridger used to, since I’m not a damned vampire and like a little morning sun in my sky to guide me. As it turns out, he only went out before dawn to avoid people and to feel like he was all alone in the world, embracing the solitude and enjoying the valuable time for mental reflection and finding peace of mind. Now, he loves seeing people during his jogs. Like the Marvin brothers, who are opening their vegetable stands. Or the cheery-ass pair of employees at Patsy’s Pastries & Pies preparing the store for the day. And the old ladies from church who have started going on walks at Spruce Park, which Bridger swears he had nothing to do with, even though in all of my years in this town they’ve never done that before. They also stare at him at church every Sunday with what Bridger calls “happy eyes” and what I call “ladies who need to get laid”.
When we pass by the clinic, Marybeth is in the parking lot just getting out of her car when she waves eagerly at us, calling out, “Hey there, handsome boys!” then pretends to jog in place before letting out a giggle. “My, my, the two of you have commitment! Look at you, Anthony! So healthy! Have you lost weight since the last time I saw you?”
“Everywhere but my ass,” I call back at her.
“Tell me about it,” she sings at me with a smirk, then perks up when she remembers something. “Oh, Bridger, doll face, don’t you have a shift here in the afternoon? I’ll be seein’ you later on, right? Carla and I have some seriously juicy gossip just for you.”