Total pages in book: 90
Estimated words: 87921 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 440(@200wpm)___ 352(@250wpm)___ 293(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 87921 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 440(@200wpm)___ 352(@250wpm)___ 293(@300wpm)
“Come on, Daddy. I show you mine, you show me yours.” He doesn’t open his eyes, and I wonder if it’s because he’s half-asleep or if it’s just easier that way. I get what he’s saying though. He told me a story, and I owe him one in return.
“We’re trading tragedies, huh? I guess it’s only fair.” I think for a second, finger his hair again and then say, “I’ve always been obsessed with old cars. I’ve always wanted to rebuild them—body work, paint, all of that.”
“Why don’t you?” he asks, his eyes still closed.
“Shh. Daddy’s telling a story. That part is for another day.” I don’t tell him there’s an old Ranchero in Steph’s garage that I bought two years ago and haven’t touched. “I used to collect model cars. I’d do them myself, was fucking proud as hell when I’d finish one. Mom would help sometimes too. Or while I worked on models she used to make doll furniture. She’d paint these tiny-ass chairs and tables and shit for doll houses and then she’d sell them.”
“You guys bonded over it?” He nuzzles closer, still sounds half-asleep but I think he’s keeping his eyes closed because he doesn’t want to look into mine. Doesn’t want me to see the shit he tries to hide from the world.
“Yeah, I guess we did. So, I had a small collection. Nothing major, but I was proud as hell of them. I went to school one day. We were in Austin at the time. My mom was dating this real asshole. She was a magnet for dickheads. If there was a man who would abuse her and treat her bad, he’d find her. So yeah, I came home from school, and she was throwing shit in the car, telling me we were leaving. I ran inside to get my models and guess what the motherfucker had decided to trash?” A tightness hits my chest. Jesus, I’d forgotten about that. Why the fuck does it carry so much weight after all these years?
Derek’s eyes flutter open at that. “Holy shit, Jackson. I’m sorry.”
I shrug. “It is what it is. Life isn’t always pretty…or fair,” I use the same words he’d given to me a little while ago.
“Did you start a new collection?” he asks.
“No.” I should have, but I hadn’t wanted to give anyone else something to use against me. He wrecked those cars because he knew the best way to hurt my mom was to hurt me. She’s a lot of things—irresponsible, flaky, but she’s always loved me.
“I’m gonna buy you one,” he says and for some reason, that makes me grin.
We’re both quiet for a moment, before Derek asks, “What are we doing?”
It’s a good fucking question. One I don’t have the answer to so I just say, “Shh. Go to bed. Sleep off the alcohol and remember, I’m old. It’s past my bedtime,” I tease.
He falls asleep with a smile pulling at his lips.
I jerk awake at a crashing sound.
“Shit! Motherfucking stupid piece of shit!”
The room is incredibly bright. My eyes sting from the light or because I’m still tired, I don’t know. I sit up to see Derek in the kitchen wearing a T-shirt and a pair of light blue boxer trunks. When I shift, he looks up at me, his eyes wide and then groans and says, “I was trying to cook a stupid omelet and I burned myself. I hate adulting.”
A chuckle slips past my lips. I push off the couch and make my way into the room with him.
“You look sexy with your eyes all tired from sleep.”
Ignoring his statement, I grab his wrist and tug him closer. “Are you okay?” There’s a small red area on his index finger.
“No. I’m annoyed. I was trying to make you breakfast. I thought since you won’t take my ass as a thank-you, maybe you’ll take food, but now I hate omelets and I’m never making one again.”
He tries to pull his hand away, but I don’t let him. With a teasing grin on my face, I suck his finger into my mouth and watch him shudder.
“Oh fuck. That’s kind of hot.”
After pulling his finger out I say, “It’s to cool down your burn.”
“I have a water faucet, you know?”
“Yeah, but it’s not as fun. Are you seriously complaining?”
He shakes his head and tries to pull his hand away again, but I lock my fingers tighter.
“You’re so confusing. I don’t understand you. You’re being fun, flirty Jackson again, but if I try to get on my knees for you, I bet you won’t let me suck your cock the way you just did my finger.”
He’s right, in a way. I know I’m probably giving him whiplash. I’m doing the same thing to myself. But the truth is, I’m not sure what the hell I’m doing. I think a part of me believes once I have him, he’ll run, and even though I’m not looking for anything serious, I’m not ready to lose my new friend yet.