Total pages in book: 79
Estimated words: 74451 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 372(@200wpm)___ 298(@250wpm)___ 248(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 74451 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 372(@200wpm)___ 298(@250wpm)___ 248(@300wpm)
“Good. They can hear you answer me.”
“Answer you? What are you talking about?”
“Do you or do you not want a future with me?”
She jerks in reaction. “What?”
“I asked if you wanted a future with me and I expect you to answer.”
“Is this really the place to be talking about this Ryder?” she huffs.
“You’re sitting there questioning me, so yeah, Tillie, I think it’s the perfect place.”
“Well, I don’t.”
“I do.”
My head jerks over to see Dakota and Billy Simpson—a guy we all went to school with, standing by the entrance. It wasn’t them talking, however. That would be Tucker who is with them but standing closer just a few feet away from mine and Tillie’s table.
“Tucker,” Tillie whispers and I see the regret and pain on her face, and it tears at me. Son of a bitch, does she have feelings for my brother?
“Answer Ryder’s question, Tillie,” he says softly.
My body tenses. I don’t want to let it all play out here like this, but I can’t stop it. I need to know how she truly feels. Fuck, I need my brother to know, too. It’s not fair to Tillie, but this is what we have, and it needs to be said.
“Tucker, not here.”
“Here’s where we are, Tillie. I like you. You know that.”
“I like you, too,” she responds, and I growl under my breath.
She doesn’t miss the sound and she closes her eyes.
“It’s still him, isn’t it?” Tucker asks, but I can see the look on his face. It’s over. It will be awkward between us for a bit, but it will be okay. It will have to be.
Tillie’s eyes open and there are tears shining in them. “Even if Ryder and I don’t work out, it couldn’t be you, Tucker. You’re his brother.”
“Buttons, you need to think about what you say next because I’m about to make your ass pink right here, right now.”
“Ryder—”
“We are working out. You got shit in your head and I understand why you feel that way, I do.”
“Ryder—”
“It needs to stop. I’m tired of getting two steps into our future and you going back one.”
“I’m not going back,” she argues. “Unless you count that I’d like to hit you over the head with a coffee pot.”
“Here you go, Tillie,” Brenda says, the manager of the diner. She steps up to reach out an old metal coffee pot like the waitresses use to refill customer’s cups. Well, fuck, it appears Brenda is not my number one fan.
“Uh… No thanks.”
“You sure, honey? Men need their heads adjusted sometimes. Lord knows, my Frank needs it from time to time.”
“Uh, yeah, Brenda, I’m sure. I kind of like him when he’s not being an idiot. I don’t want to take a chance of damaging the few brain cells he has working.”
“And I think we’re done here,” I snap, standing up and tugging on Tillie’s hand to bring her up with me. She resists, making me frown.
“What are you doing?”
“I’m only here for a few more days and the last thing I want is to spend it with the town trying to convince you not to pour hot coffee on me.”
“Technically it was just to hit you over the head with a coffee pot,” Dakota yells.
“Yeah, but it had coffee in it and with the way Tillie loves to inflict pain on my balls,” I gripe, and I sit back down, because apparently this isn’t going to end any time soon.
“Oh my God, I do not. Will you stop? People are listening.”
“Buttons, you do. You practically unmanned me at the steakhouse.”
“She did. I have to say I did see that. With the grip she had on Ryder, it’s a wonder the man doesn’t talk like Minnie Mouse permanently. I think she was trying to tear them off,” Ms. Lane says from a corner table.
“I didn’t do it on purpose. It was an accident,” Tillie grumbles.
“How do you accidentally grab a man by the balls and try to tear them off?” Dakota asks.
“Beats me, but I hope her and Ryder aren’t planning on having kids, because I’m thinking that might be near to impossible,” Henry Simpson says. I glance over to his table where he’s eating with his twin brother Homer.
“Balls are very delicate creatures,” Homer says, joining in. Tillie is looking at everyone in horror and if I could make myself move, I’d take her out of here. For the life of me, I can’t seem to make that happen, though. It’s like my feet are frozen. “You remember that old cat I had, Henry?” Homer asks.
“Dangles? Hell, yeah, I remember him. I’m still wearing the scar on my leg where that little asshole bit me and tore the hide off my leg—not to mention my finger,” he complains. “I may be getting old Homer, but I’m not senile yet.”