Total pages in book: 89
Estimated words: 84195 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 421(@200wpm)___ 337(@250wpm)___ 281(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 84195 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 421(@200wpm)___ 337(@250wpm)___ 281(@300wpm)
So I went ahead and climbed in because that had become our thing and he hadn’t texted me not to. I usually fell asleep the moment my head hit the pillow. That hadn’t happened, though. I tossed and turned, wondering what bar they were at and if Clark had met someone. He had every right to meet someone, of course. How many someones had I met in my life? Your eyes connect, you start talking, and before you know it, a hookup is on the horizon, and oh my God. What if he met someone, got so into it that he forgot about me, and came home with another guy, only to find me in his bed?
Shit!
I jumped up and did my best to make the bed just the way he did, which was a lot of fucking work, thank you very much. One would think it would be easy—and every time I’d made my own in the past it had been—but Clark folded the blankets and sheets in this specific way, straightened everything out so there wasn’t a single crease or wrinkle, like he’d gone to the university of expert bed makers.
I went to my bed, sure I’d go right to sleep, but nope, I’d lain there listening for him. Why was I listening for him? He was a grown man. He might come home with a guy, and if he did, that was none of my business. Knowing Clark, though, maybe he felt weird and went to the guy’s house instead because of me.
My stomach twisted uncomfortably. Great. Maybe I was coming down with the flu.
Or, you know, I was jealous…or didn’t like the idea of Clark hooking up with someone, which was crazy and stupid and made absolutely no sense. There had never been a time in my life that I’d cared when a guy hooked up with someone else. You also felt strange when you hooked up with someone else, but you didn’t when you jacked off with him.
Shut up, voice!
I liked the thought of having the flu a whole lot more.
Clark was…special. No other word could describe him better. I’d always felt like that about him, and now it was making me Jelly McJellerson because…because he was out getting laid and I wasn’t? That had to be it. Only it wasn’t, but I tried to ignore that.
At some point I fell asleep, but it wasn’t a deep sleep because when he came home I heard him. I seriously held my breath and lay perfectly still, wondering if Clark had come home with someone or if he was alone.
I didn’t hear voices or other footsteps.
His bedroom door closed.
I breathed…waiting, and nope. I needed to chill the fuck out. If he started having sex in the next room, I didn’t want to hear that. I fumbled around for my earbuds, shoved them in, and listened to music until I managed to fall asleep.
When my eyes pulled open again, they felt grainy, and I could tell I hadn’t slept too long. I was off today, so there was no reason I couldn’t sleep all day if I wanted to. Still, I got up, pulled on a pair of pajama pants, and stumbled my way into the hall. His door was still closed.
Were they going to stay in bed all day? Clark rarely slept past nine—at least that’s what he told me, as I was usually still dead to the world.
I took a leak, washed my hands, brushed my teeth, looked at his door, wanted to punch myself for looking at his door because I was being a really weird creeper and obsessed with wondering if Clark got laid last night.
“It doesn’t matter,” I said softly. Then a little more loudly, “It doesn’t matter.” I mean, if I wanted to get laid, I could just go out and do the same. Maybe I’d do that tonight.
I went back to my room, grabbed my phone, and did some browsing. I couldn’t even say how it happened, but I ended up googling stuff about sewing and Portland, because I’d use anything to keep myself from thinking about Clark. Somehow, I ran into some job listings, and there was a position coming up at a local theater for someone to help make costumes. Seeing it made my heart jump, and I read it over and over, something else to focus on. Clark, sewing job, Clark, sewing job. Yep, I was definitely losing it.
I decided to quit being a crazy person. I’d treat Clark to my Sky’s Famous Chocolate Chip Pancakes—which really meant pancakes me and Mom thought were the shit.
It was just after ten, and I figured, guy in there or not, he would be up soon. I started coffee, then began whipping up the pancake mix. At one point, I accidentally flicked the spoon, making the batter fly across the kitchen, which I would totally clean up before Clark woke up.