Total pages in book: 84
Estimated words: 82715 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 414(@200wpm)___ 331(@250wpm)___ 276(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 82715 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 414(@200wpm)___ 331(@250wpm)___ 276(@300wpm)
“Okay,” he replied, getting to his feet. He looked back twice before he got to the middle of the living room.
“He’s usually not so clingy,” I said apologetically, glancing at Michael as I stood back up. “I don’t know what his deal is.”
“He’s not sure of us yet,” Michael replied, smoothing his beard down with his hand. “Didn’t want you to leave him.”
“No.” I shook my head. That couldn’t be it. My kid didn’t worry about things like that. He was the kid, and I was the parent, I worried about him. “He’s not afraid of stuff like that—”
“He doesn’t understand any of this,” Michael said sharply, cutting me off. “He’s gained an entire family in one day. None of this shit is normal. He doesn’t know us.”
“It’s getting chilly out there,” Mrs. Hawthorne said as she and Mr. Hawthorne came in the front door. They brought in the smell of fresh air and weed with them.
“I’d somehow forgotten how fast it cools off here,” I replied. “As soon as the sun goes down I’m freezing my butt off.”
“Sounds about accurate,” she said with a laugh. “It’s supposed to get pretty damn cold tonight. Where are you guys staying?”
“Oh, well, we got a motel last night.”
“You can stay here if you want,” she said as her husband helped take her coat off. “I can have one of the boys sleep in the living room if you can stand the smell of feet. I can’t seem to erase the stench from their bedrooms.”
I debated it, but only for a second. I could feel Otto’s eyes on the back of my head. He’d warmed up, sure, but I had a feeling that staying the night would cause that thaw to disappear, especially once Michael wasn’t running interference. I hated that he was so angry with me. I understood it, but I really hated it. I’d expected it from Michael. I’d prepared myself for it, but I hadn’t expected it from his teenage brother.
“That’s okay,” I said, waving her off.
“They can stay with me,” Michael said, his eyes on Rhett as he shuffled from side to side. “I’ve got the room.”
“Oh,” Mrs. Hawthorne replied. I couldn’t read her tone. “Okay, yeah that makes sense.”
Otto started to laugh, but I didn’t turn to look at him. Something about the sound made me apprehensive.
A couple hours later, I was following Michael’s motorcycle as we wound through a neighborhood close to the one I’d grown up in. It had only taken Rhett minutes to pass out from exhaustion and the car was silent around me as I thought about the day. It hadn’t gone as bad as I’d planned for, if anything, it had gone way better than I’d expected. Michael’s parents had been as welcoming as the first time I’d met them and they’d all adored Rhett, though, I’d known they would, so that hadn’t been surprising.
What had been surprising was Michael.
He was so different from the last time I’d seen him. The boy I’d left behind was a goofball. He’d rarely been without a smile on his face. This new man was serious, calm, reserved. I couldn’t believe the difference. He rode a fucking motorcycle, which granted, I shouldn’t have been surprised about considering he’d always planned on getting one, but it was still kind of startling.
He was also hotter, which I hadn’t thought was possible. Michael had always been bulky, but now he was hard, for lack of a better word. The muscle he’d always had was honed to perfection. I wiped the smile off my face with the back of my hand.
I didn’t need to be thinking about how hard Michael was. I didn’t need to be thinking about the beard he had now and how it would feel against my skin. I didn’t need to imagine tangling my fingers in his hair as I—
The fantasy I didn’t need to be thinking about cut off abruptly as I pulled up behind him in a very familiar driveway. What in the hell was he doing?
I put the car in park and stared at him as the garage door opened up and he drove inside, parking his bike beside a very familiar truck. I was still staring, my mouth hanging open as he walked back toward me, the garage rolling shut behind him.
“You comin’ in?” he asked dryly as I rolled down the window.
“What the fuck?” I blurted in confusion.
“Damn.” He huffed. “When did you start sayin’ fuck?”
“Probably when I was in labor,” I shot back. “Why the hell are we at my house?”
“We’re at my house,” he replied, his expression completely blank. “You need help bringing our boy inside?”
“No, I got him.” I rolled up the window and got out of the car, leaving it running. “What do you mean your house?”
“My house. I own it.”