Total pages in book: 93
Estimated words: 90503 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 453(@200wpm)___ 362(@250wpm)___ 302(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 90503 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 453(@200wpm)___ 362(@250wpm)___ 302(@300wpm)
“But I wasn’t.” She smiled. “I might be sore tomorrow, but I actually thought that was really hot.”
“You did?”
“Yeah.” Her smile turned a little shy, her eyes adoring. “You were all manly and dominant and strong. Power is sexy. I mean, I don’t want to be pushed around anywhere else, but you can get a little aggressive with me in the bedroom. I’m tougher than I look.”
“I know you are.”
She took my face in her hands. “And I’m crazy about you. All of you. Don’t feel like you have to hold back with me, okay? You can be your real self. That’s what I want.”
I swallowed hard. “Maren, I have to tell you something.”
“You can tell me anything. But can I have one second? I’m afraid of getting something on this dress, because I don’t have anything else to wear to dinner.” She squirmed, trying to make sure her dress wasn’t underneath her.
“Oh, sure. I’m sorry.” I carefully pulled out and watched her ease off the bed.
“I’ll be right back,” she said, giving me a sheepish grin as she headed for the bathroom.
“Take your time.” I pulled myself together and sat down on the edge of the bed, elbows on my knees, head in my hands.
Could I do this? Was I really going to admit everything? Was I ready for what her reaction was going to be? Tears and pity and sorrow and pleading with me to have the surgery—and that was if she forgave me for keeping it from her all weekend. She’d be a mess at dinner, unable to explain why, and our last night together would be ruined.
Then there was the thing she’d said about power. You were all manly and dominant and strong. Power is sexy. If she knew the truth, she’d never see me that way again. She’d see me as sick and weak and at the mercy of other people. Smarter people. Like Finn.
The bathroom door opened, and she came out looking as perfect as she had when she’d walked in. “All good,” she said, her smile fading as she got closer to me. “You okay?”
I stood up. “I’m fine. Ready to go?”
Her head tilted to one side. “Wasn’t there something you wanted to tell me?”
“It was nothing,” I lied. The disappointment in her face gutted me.
“It didn’t sound like nothing. Come on, tell me.” She slipped her arms around my waist.
“I just—wanted you to know how much this weekend has meant to me. That’s all.”
She smiled up at me. “Me, too.”
“Should we head out?”
“Yes.” But she hesitated. “There’s nothing else you want to tell me?”
“No.” I could hardly meet her eyes. “That was it. I’ll just use the bathroom real quick, and then we’ll go.”
“Okay.” She let go of me, and I hurried into the bathroom, closing the door behind me. I avoided the mirror.
What the fuck was I going to do?
Dinner was a struggle.
Not because of the company—Maren’s sisters seemed great, and everyone was making an effort with me, but my head was not in the game.
“So, Dallas, I hear you’re a tattoo artist?”
I blinked at the guy who’d asked the question. Walter, his name was, although it was hard not to think of him as Buzz after Maren’s stories. He was tall and thin and professorial-looking, clean shaven with neatly combed sandy blond hair and wire-rim glasses. “Yes.”
“That must be interesting work.”
“Yeah.” When I didn’t go on, Maren spoke up.
“Dallas is amazingly talented. He used to draw things on people with a Sharpie at parties in high school. He once did this incredible design on my arm I never wanted to wash off.”
“I remember that.” Emme nodded enthusiastically. “Mom was so mad at you.”
“She was.” Maren laughed. “Every time she saw it, she would groan and tell me to go put long sleeves on.”
“Ever do any tattoos of bees?” Walter asked. “I’ve sometimes thought about getting one.”
“Can’t say that I have.”
The conversation stalled.
“Nate, do you have any tattoos?” Maren asked Emme’s fiancé. He was dark-haired and thicker through the chest and shoulders than Walter, and he had a little bit of facial hair, but I was willing to bet he was not the type to have ink under his expensive suit. I hadn’t tattooed a lot of lawyers in my life.
“I don’t,” he said. “I’m actually not a huge fan of needles near my skin.”
Emme looked at him. “You’re afraid of needles? I didn’t know that.”
“I said I wasn’t a fan of needles, not that I was afraid of them. Big difference.”
She rolled her eyes. “Right.”
The oldest sister, Stella, tried to draw me out a different way. “So you’re in Portland, I hear? How do you like it out there?”
“I like it.”
“I’ve never been there,” she went on, “but I’ve heard it’s really nice.”
“I’d like to visit Oregon wine country,” said Emme. “I love Willamette Valley pinot noir. Have you ever done any winery tours or anything?”