Total pages in book: 27
Estimated words: 25416 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 127(@200wpm)___ 102(@250wpm)___ 85(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 25416 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 127(@200wpm)___ 102(@250wpm)___ 85(@300wpm)
“I wish it was under better circumstances,” she says. “Lucas, this is Simon. Simon, this is Lucas Young. He just moved into my Aunt Nina’s rental unit.”
“Nice to meet you, sir,” Simon says, shaking my hand. He’s younger than me, probably just a few years older than Tatum. A bit gangly, like a puppy who hasn’t grown into his paws.
I shake his hand firmly.
“Pleasure’s mine, son.”
He opens and closes his fist a few times, then says, “Like I told Tatum, everything’s for sale. Just make an offer. The bigger pieces, if you can get ‘em out yourselves, you can have for half, because otherwise we’ll just have to pay someone to haul ‘em away.”
“Thanks, Simon,” Tatum says. “I really appreciate it.”
“Any time.” He smiles at her in a way that makes my blood boil.
I take Tatum’s hand, and she steps closer to me, close enough that I can feel her body heat against my side.
“We’ll just go have a look.” I smile tightly at Simon, who casts a not-so stealthy glance down at our joined hands.
“Sure,” he says. “Yeah, go right ahead.”
And we do.
“Just look at all this,” Tatum says, as we head into the dining room. A sturdy oak table and four chairs has a piece of paper on it that says “$200 OBO” but it’s also covered in dishware in a variety of patterns.
But the table can wait.
“Let's check out the bedrooms,” I say, and lead her down a long hall. There are two bedrooms, and both have beds with frames for sale. Personally, I like the queen-size guest bed, with the brass frame. An image of Tatum tied to that bedframe flashes through my mind. I swallow hard and push it away.
“Ooh, this is pretty,” she purrs. “We could get you a new bedspread, something a little more masculine than pink flowers.”
“What if I like pink flowers?”
Tatum grins. “Then by all means, keep the dead woman’s linens.”
She strums her fingernails on the matching brass side table with a glass top, and I think maybe I'll take it all. And the dresser, in distressed white wood.
“But you really should test the mattress first,” she says, climbing onto the bed and laying down.
“Shoes,” I say, and she kicks them off before continuing. She shifts onto her side, props her head on her hand, and smiles up at me. One thing’s for damn sure: she’s not the same cherub-cheeked teenager I started writing to four years ago. The invitation in her gaze is unmistakable.
I can't help myself. I sit down on the mattress beside her.
“It's a little springy,” she says, bouncing a little so that her breasts tremble within the confines of her t-shirt. I force myself to look away before she catches me staring. “But not uncomfortable.”
“It'll do me just fine.”
Bedframe, mattress, box spring, side table, dresser, and a set of everyday dishware; that's what we get for me. And for her...
I spot a small, emerald ring set in a thin band of gold, and think it would look perfect on her finger. When I ask Simon how much it is, he tells me it is six-hundred bucks.
“It’s a family heirloom thing,” he says. “Genuine twenty-four karat gold. You understand.”
“I got—” I sort through my cash as Tatum carts the box of dishware to the truck. “—three-forty left. Can I bring you the rest later this afternoon?”
Simon glances between me and Tatum and folds his bony arms across his chest.
"I don't think so, man," he says. I don’t need a psychic to tell me he’s just being a hard ass because he doesn't want me gifting the ring to Tatum.
“Not a problem.” I march over to the truck where the dresser is waiting to be loaded on. I pick it up, wrapping it in a bear hug, and bring it back over to Simon. “Here,” I say, with a huff, placing it down right in front of him. The piece is heavy, solid wood, but I've done little more than lift weights for the last six years, and it shows. “I'll take the ring instead.”
I lay the remainder in cash down on the dresser and leave with the ring.
The drive back to the duplex feels shorter than the trip to the estate sale, as Tatum and I quiz one another on the things we love best.
“Okay, okay,” she says excitedly. “Favorite movie of all time?”
“Hmm,” I hum, considering. “Probably Butch Cassidy and the Sundance Kid.”
She rolls her eyes. “That is such an old man thing to say.”
I laugh, full-bodied. “Old? Now see here, young lady—”
“All right, maybe not old, maybe just…middle aged.”
“Now that’s ageist, right there.”
She sticks out her tongue.
“Put that tongue back in your mouth,” I say with a smirk, “or I’ll make you use it.”
“For what?” she asks, her tone shifting. At a stoplight, I venture a glance in her direction, and find her leaning toward me over the center console. I’m drawn to her like a magnet, but I resist. I tell myself I can’t do that, I can’t kiss her, no matter how much I want to.