Total pages in book: 94
Estimated words: 89583 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 448(@200wpm)___ 358(@250wpm)___ 299(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 89583 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 448(@200wpm)___ 358(@250wpm)___ 299(@300wpm)
“Twinsies. You can watch it with me.” My voice ends on a high note, hoping that he’ll drop it. My hope is thin, however. I’ve learned the hard way that Reagan has the tenacity of my cousin Marie’s rescue Chihuahua, Liberace. You can’t play fetch with that dog ’cause he––like Reagan––won’t let the damn bone go.
“After we get back from my parents’.”
Deep, heavy sigh. I can already see the writing on the wall. “I don’t have anything to wear and your parents will hate me.” Jumping out of bed, I tuck the phone between my shoulder and ear and rifle through all three possible options. All of which are black.
“They won’t hate you.” I don’t fail to notice that he says nothing else to assure me of a warm welcome. “I can’t deal with them right now. Not alone. I just…” Trailing off, he takes a deep breath. His exhaustion is so palpable it’s coming through the phone and it pains me. I can’t even fathom dreading spending time with my parents. “…can’t. I need you. I’m asking you as my friend.”
Straight to the heart. His words hit me straight in the heart muscle. That sweet voice asking me to be there for him spells game over for me. I’m a goner. I can’t say no to him. Not now and, I suspect, not ever––a fact he never needs to know.
“Give me thirty minutes.” My voice dies on the last vowel. I sound like a total downer. I know I do, and yet it can’t be helped. I’ve heard enough about his parents to be legit terrified of those people.
They gave up on their son, wrote him off like he was a bad investment they needed to dump. Who does that? Who gives up on their son when he’s battling an addiction? And two doctors, no less. I think of all the times my parents have bent over backwards to help me when they had nothing to give, and it leaves me cold and so very grateful. If those people have no sympathy for their own son, what could they possibly think of me?
“I’ll text when I’m outside,” he answers, suddenly perky.
“Yeah. Fine.”
Reagan
It’s not fair to ask Alice to play buffer between me and my parents. I know it’s not, but what happened with Brian is still weighing heavily on me and I’m in no shape to fend off my father today. Two, possibly three uninterrupted hours of him trying to bully me into choosing surgery are coming my way and I don’t want this to be the day he finally pushes me over the edge. She keeps me centered, makes me feel like everything isn’t spinning out of control. Even when it is.
I texted Alice a minute ago and didn’t get a reply. I’m about to jump out of the Jeep and knock on her door when she steps out.
Ho-ly-shit.
I push my shades up to the top of my head to get a better look while Alice wraps one arm across her body and grips the opposite elbow––something she does when she’s nervous, I’ve noticed. She rolls her eyes and the pale skin on her cheeks turns pink.
“Looking good, Jersey.”
Her dress is not really showing any skin. Sexy isn’t the way I’d describe it. It’s black and sleeveless and falls right above her knees. But it grips her curves the way I’d like to grip her…
Better not go there. Maybe this was a bad idea. I’m full of them lately. Like that godforsaken kiss. Probably the stupidest thing I’ve ever done. It even tops letting Dallas talk me and the rest of the team into posing nude for a calendar that raised funds for an animal shelter he supports. I spent thousands of dollars trying to scrub that picture off the Internet. I’ll never forget that phone call from my father.
“Why am I staring at a picture of your hairless balls?”
No greeting. Straight for the throat. He’d caught one of the nurses on his floor looking at it on her phone. It would’ve gone over real well with medical school admissions officers too. This is much worse than that.
Imagining kissing Alice is one thing. Actually knowing what her soft, pillowy lips feel like is another. Way to torture myself. Every night since then I’ve fallen asleep with my dick in my hand and thoughts of those lips everywhere else. And that one kiss is going to have to suffice because she didn’t seem to be affected at all. Took it all in stride, telling me it only happened because I was upset.
Bullshit.
I knew exactly what I was doing. And screwed everything up in the process. All that one kiss did was whet my appetite. I want more now, so much more, and I don’t know how to get out of the box I put myself in.