Total pages in book: 138
Estimated words: 129460 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 647(@200wpm)___ 518(@250wpm)___ 432(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 129460 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 647(@200wpm)___ 518(@250wpm)___ 432(@300wpm)
Caleb sets the dining chair back onto his legs before following me into his bathroom. “Your guest is Warren?” His tone announces he doesn’t care that I have a male guest over as long as it is someone on his approved list.
Although I shouldn’t, I work the frustrated part of his question to my advantage. “Yes.” I snatch the first-aid kit from underneath the vanity before pivoting to face him. “Do you have a problem with that?”
His eyes stray from the shower curtain to me. He looks equally angry as he does scared, but all I feel is annoyed when he shakes his head.
A waft of air escapes my lips as I stuff the first-aid kit under my arm as if it is my purse before I attempt to sidestep Caleb. I say attempt since he doesn’t move when he notices me approaching. He remains standing still, frozen and confused.
“How did he hit his head?” he asks several uncomfortable seconds later.
The worry in his eyes should leash my eyes. Regretfully, they don’t. “He knocked it on the bed when he crawled under it to hide from Lou.” When his eyes dart between mine, they darken more and more with confusion. “My apartment is on rent relief. I can’t have overnight guests for longer than three days.”
“And Lou thinks you’ve had overnight guests longer than that?”
I nod. “Yes… because that’s what you told him.”
Annoyed, I barge him with my hip before skirting past him. My fast pace to the door slows when Caleb blurts out, “I didn’t tell Lou shit, Jess. I don’t know the guy from a bar of soap so why the fuck would I tattle to him about something I already know isn’t true?”
My hair slaps my face when I spin to face him. “It is really so hard for you to believe I could have someone over?”
“No.” He looks at me as if I’m crazy. “It’s the fact I knew you were lying when you said you had someone over that frees me from worry.”
I scoff at him. “Don’t act like you know me, Caleb. We fucked once—”
“Twice,” he corrects. “Four if penetration is the only requirement to class it as ‘fucking.’”
When he wiggles his fingers in the air, reminding me how they disarm me as quickly as his soul-bearing eyes, I resort to acting like a child. “You’re an asshole.”
He nods like I’m not telling him anything he doesn’t already know. “I’ve never hidden that from you, Jess.” He steps closer to me, bringing my defenses down half an inch when I spot the sincerity in his eyes. “I just wish it didn’t encourage you to lower your standards as well. We can’t all be fucked up. Some of us need our heads screwed on straight to stop the entire world from imploding.”
There’s so much hurt in his eyes—so much anguish—but more than anything, there is a man who just wants to take a breath without feeling like he’s stealing the air from someone more deserving.
I could continue to fight. I could act like my heart isn’t as twisted now as it was last week, but instead of either of those things, I nudge my head to his hideous pants. “What’s with the pants? Are Velcro sides the new Adidas’ style, or are you hoping to cut your bathroom breaks down to seconds?”
Caleb’s shock quickly switches to amusement. “I hadn’t considered the bathroom perks.” He gestures his hand to the dining room table, offering for me to sit. When I do, he collects the chair he was humping in the living room, spins it, then sits on it backward. “But I… ah… thought they’d help me test a new revenue stream.”
I cut straight to the chase. “You’re going to strip for a living?”
His Adam’s apple bobs up and down before his head joins the action.
“What happened to your phobia of touch?”
“It’s still there.” He scrubs the back of his neck before straying his eyes to the living room rug. “That’s why I’ve been working on a routine.”
His eyes snap back to mine when I ask, “A no-touch routine?”
He looks embarrassed when he jerks up his chin.
“Is that even possible?” I shouldn’t sound jealous, but I do. “That’s why they charge so much. It’s the ‘handsy’ surcharge that blows every maid of honor’s budget.” His expression makes it seem as if I punched him in the gut, and it has me acting as if I’m more than his nosy neighbor. “There has to be something else you can do?”
“There isn’t. I’ve tried everything. I’m not qualified for most jobs, and the ones I am, aren’t accommodating to my nee—” He snaps his mouth shut like he said too much before determination hardens his face. “There’s got to be a way I can make it work. I just need to trial some things before tonight.”