Total pages in book: 137
Estimated words: 127991 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 640(@200wpm)___ 512(@250wpm)___ 427(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 127991 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 640(@200wpm)___ 512(@250wpm)___ 427(@300wpm)
“Smart.” He brushed his thumb over my cheek. “I love you,” he said firmly, then grinned when my heart rate audibly sped up. “Definitely investing in one of those,” he murmured. “I’ll be back.”
McGee chuckled softly once he was gone. “Pretty sure he means it, kid.”
I swallowed and toyed with the edge of my phone. “About getting a cardiac monitor?”
“I meant about loving you… and you knew exactly what I meant.” He frowned and leaned forward. “What’s going on?”
“Nothing. Just tired, I think, and… ugh.” I blew out a breath and told the truth. “I love him, McGee.”
He snorted. “Not new news, kid. You’re pretty shit at hiding it.”
“That’s exactly the problem!” I lifted my hands and let them fall into my lap. “I worry that I won’t be able to hide it. What if we’re walking down the street or at the office and I give him a dopey, heart-eyed smile? I mean, I’ve never done that in my life… but I’ve also never been in love before, so how the hell do I know how I’ll act now that I am? Also, I told my parents I’m pansexual yesterday—”
“Hey! Congratulations.”
“Yeah, thanks.” I waved this away. “I’ve never bothered hiding that either, but now that I’ve made it mom-and-dad-official, I just know my mother has called a dozen friends and told them in strictest confidence, which means soon everyone will know. And Thatcher’s talking about us moving in together? People will talk, McGee… and Jesus, now I sound like my mother,” I groaned, digging my head back into the pillow.
“Whoa, whoa, whoa. Hold up. You think Thatcher’s gonna hide you?”
“Not hide me. But…” I shrugged. “Well, yeah. I can’t see him advertising our relationship, can you? He doesn’t share his personal life because he doesn’t want to become a news story or have the tabloids crawling all over him the way they were during his last divorce. Telling people that he’s not only bi, but he’s also dating the much younger son of a friend, who happens to be his employee? That’s like sending the tabloids an engraved invitation.”
Instead of responding, McGee seemed to stop and think through what I was saying. “Maybe you should talk to him about this,” he said carefully.
I blew out a breath. “Yeah.” I nodded. “You’re right. That’s probably a good idea.”
And I would. I would. Once Thatcher didn’t have so much work-related shit on his plate. Once I’d heard the whole Brantleigh story and knew Thatcher was really okay with it. Once I knew he wasn’t worried about my health. Then, I told myself, I’d bring up my concerns in a way that made it clear I wasn’t trying to put pressure on Thatcher to do something I knew he’d hate, like take our relationship public.
Which was why I was caught completely off guard four days later when Chris Acton showed up at our hotel in downtown Madison, Wisconsin…
With a film crew.
Chapter Twenty-Two
Thatcher
It wasn’t the first time McGee had saved me from a colossal mistake—not even the first time this week—but it was definitely the most critical one.
He doesn’t think you want to claim him publicly.
The words McGee had spoken before heading out to find a hotel room that first night had echoed in my mind for two days while Reagan dozed in his hospital bed, joked with McGee, and listened encouragingly while I told him about Brant. They were there when Reagan cajoled me into sitting far closer to him than the nurse strictly encouraged while he ate chicken soup and told me about the morning he’d come out to his parents. And they were there when he looked at me with heat in his aquamarine eyes that made me think eight days was almost definitely too many.
If the words hadn’t been there, I might not have noticed the way Reagan sidestepped when I talked about spending time with his parents in Honeybridge this summer or how he only nodded vaguely when I mentioned getting us tickets to a musical he wanted to see. He wasn’t wearing a polite mask with me anymore, thank fuck, and there wasn’t a doubt in my mind that he loved me and wanted that future we’d talked about as desperately as I did, but my man was holding back in an attempt to protect me.
Which meant I needed to show him unequivocally that I didn’t plan to hold back when it came to showing the world how much Reagan meant to me, and he didn’t need to hold back either.
When Reagan was finally discharged—after charming the entire nursing staff, of course—McGee drove us to a luxury hotel suite a few blocks away where Reagan could spend a few more days recovering before boarding the jet home. That night, I unapologetically curled my body around Reagan’s in the large hotel bed and finally got a decent night’s sleep. The following morning, I started making plans.