Total pages in book: 196
Estimated words: 188002 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 940(@200wpm)___ 752(@250wpm)___ 627(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 188002 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 940(@200wpm)___ 752(@250wpm)___ 627(@300wpm)
I’ve heard it all over the years. Pipsqueak, Shorty, Tinkerbell. And let’s not forget Pussypuker, which has nothing to do with my height and everything to do with my supreme awkwardness.
“Go easy, baby. I think you’re fucking cute and sexy.”
Ignoring my frown, he reaches across the car and holds my hand as I drive. It makes me feel so excited inside that I have to force myself to focus extra hard on actually driving the car, especially when I’m so lost in my thoughts I almost run a red light.
“Do you want me to drive?” he asks when I slam on the brakes at the last minute. “You seem a little distracted.”
“I’m fine. I’m just not used to someone holding my hand while I’m driving.”
“Do you want me to let go so you don’t kill us?” he teases.
I tighten my fingers around his before the light turns green. “No,” I answer with a smile.
When we get near the park, he directs me to a dead-end side road, and I stop the car and turn off the lights and engine when we reach the end of the street near the woods.
“I don’t think anyone will bother us here,” he says. “You mind if I smoke?”
“Not at all.”
He lets go of my hand to light up a cigarette, and I turn the key to lower his window for him.
“You said you were scared.”
“Yeah…”
He exhales smoke out the window and waits for me to continue without prompting me.
Running my finger over the leather steering wheel, I search for the right words and come up short.
“I’m afraid I might be pregnant. Or that maybe you have something.”
“Something?”
“Yeah. Like something I could get.”
“Oh.” He flicks ashes out the window. “That kind of something.”
“Yeah.”
“I didn’t come in you, so the chances of you getting pregnant are slim. And you can’t get pregnant from swallowing.”
“I know that,” I say defensively.
“Just making sure.”
Does he think I’m stupid? It might have been my first time, but I’m not a total moron about sex.
“I haven’t been with anyone in a long time. Two years, maybe. Maybe more.”
A wave of relief washes through me hearing that. I was afraid he’s been wandering around sleeping with all sorts of women in different states from coast to coast.
“Okay.”
“I don’t blame you for thinking I’m scum, Piper. I know how I look, being homeless, having long hair and tattoos, not being able to take you on a date. You deserve better.”
“I don’t think you’re scum at all. And I like the way you look. I didn’t think you had a disease because you’re homeless, Evan. You’re just really good-looking, and I figured you probably sleep with tons of women.”
That makes him laugh. “A few. But definitely not a ton. And I usually use protection. I just couldn’t fuckin’ wait to get inside you. You scrambled my fucking brain.”
“I know the feeling,” I mutter.
“And just so you know, I shower several times a week. There’s a kid that works at the truck stop on the highway. I give him guitar lessons, and he lets me use the shower early in the morning. He even gives me soap and shampoo. I’m squeaky clean,” he says with a grin.
I shake my head and smile at him. “I wondered how you always smell so nice.”
He takes one more drag off his cigarette, throws it out the window, and then grabs my hand again.
“Next time, I’ll be prepared. Okay? And I’ll try to go a little slower.”
Next time? There’s going to be a next time?
“And if it’ll make you feel better, I’ll go to the clinic downtown and get tested.”
The idea is tempting, but I think it’s safe to assume Evan doesn’t have health insurance like I do, and he’ll end up with a huge bill to pay. That makes me wonder how he even gets his bills in the mail. Does he have a PO box? Or does he have to pay for everything immediately and in full with cash? How does anyone even get in contact with him? This homelessness situation is very confusing to me.
“Um, I think that might be expensive,” I say.
“I have some extra cash for emergencies.”
Oh no. I can’t let him do that. What if he gets sick and needs the money? Or what if Acorn gets sick or hurt? What if they need food?
“You don’t have to do that.” I face him. “Do you promise me you’re telling the truth?”
“I give you my word.” His eyes hold nothing but sincerity, and it soothes my nerves somewhat. I’ve heard liars have shifty eyes, but his are calm. I decide to keep my appointment to get tested to myself and only bring it up if a scary result comes back. Otherwise, there’s really no point insulting him by telling him I ran to a doctor after having sex with him. No guy wants to hear that.