Total pages in book: 67
Estimated words: 67144 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 336(@200wpm)___ 269(@250wpm)___ 224(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 67144 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 336(@200wpm)___ 269(@250wpm)___ 224(@300wpm)
“Does my father know about Alexis?”
“I’m going to let the two of you have that conversation. Short answer is yes. But that’s all I’m saying.”
I shrink against the seat.
Although I’m not close with my father, hearing that I’m probably going to lose him stings more than I anticipated. Like he said, I’d hoped we could figure things out and maybe have a real relationship. But everyone has choices. I don’t know why I expected his to be different.
“What’s that about?” he asks.
“Nothing.”
He winks. “Don’t draw any conclusions from what I said. Keep that sunny optimism you annoy me with,” he says, teasing me.
I roll my eyes.
“I do have a problem I want to discuss with you.” Troy clears his throat and sits up. “Might as well do it now.”
“You don’t get to be mean to me. If you have bad news or think we need some space apart, you’re wrong. I do not agree. And if you think I’m a fool now because of the phone thing, even though that actually didn’t cause any problems … you’ll be right.”
He smiles.
“If it’s an employment situation, I can’t work anyway,” I say, looking at my arm that needs a cast tomorrow morning. “I’ll quit. You don’t get Becca, but I’ll quit and work at a bakery. I’d be good at a bakery.”
He starts to laugh.
“I’m not laughing,” I say. “You’re stuck with me, Castelli. I learned stalking tips thanks to this unfortunate incident. I will stalk you. You’re mine.”
His smile softens, and his head cocks to the side. “Say that again.”
“You’re mine.” I blush under his gaze. “You’re mine even though you force me to lift weights and get sugar and cinnamon all over the counter in the mornings when you make toast. And you can’t get a stain out for shit. You ruined that white shirt with spaghetti sauce.”
He shakes his head, amused.
“And you can be super bossy,” I point out. “I hate to bring this up, but your driving could use some work. You can’t park a truck, and then you spin the pizza car so that I hit the door when you could’ve hit it the other way and slung me into the center. I wouldn’t have a broken humerus.”
“Will you shut up?”
“I’m just pointing out all the things that most women may not like. But me? I like them. I like you just the way you are. Remember that if you want to go fuck around.”
“Don’t you think it’s too soon to joke about all of this?”
I try hard not to smile. “I’m not joking. My arm hurts.”
He carefully grabs my face and brings me in for a kiss. It’s soft and sweet—the most tender kiss he’s ever given me.
And I just found a new reason to love Troy Castelli.
“I’m glad you’re not joking,” he says, sitting back. “Because what I was going to say before your inane monologue was that I don’t think I can sleep without you. And I’m probably going to be slightly overprotective for a while. You can’t use your humerus, as you keep pointing out. You might need help.”
“What’s your point?” I ask, my spirits rising.
“We should live together. And if you’re thinking it’s too fast for that, then just for a little while. I just …” He sighs. “I love you.”
The bridge of my nose burns like it does before I cry. I start to climb onto his lap, but my seat belt and the searing pain in my arm stop me.
“Sit still,” he says. “We’re getting ready to land.”
I turn as much as I can to face him. “Since I’m so totally in love with you, I’m glad you want to live together. I was thinking—”
He swallows the rest of the words with a kiss—one that doesn’t stop until the pilot asks us to please leave the plane.
Chapter Twenty-Five
Dahlia
“That ain’t necessary,” Burt grumbles. “I’m not doing it. I don’t care how many times you ask.”
Burt sits in his recliner, eating a piece of chocolate cake I brought him from Hillary’s House. He’s unshaven, and his hair’s a mess. But his eyes are bright, and he’s still a piece of work, so I think he’ll be all right.
“But Burt …” I say, sticking out my bottom lip.
He scoffs. “Don’t come in here pouting with your little lip hanging out, your broken arm, and busted head. I had broken ribs and almost lost my spleen. I get the sympathy.”
Troy leans against the wall and watches Burt and I argue about him moving across town to be near us. We decided living at Troy’s was easier once the sun came up. Bigger house. Nicer house. Closer to work, assuming we still have jobs.
And no bad memories.
“You’re going to cost me a lot of time,” I say. “I hope you know that.”
“I’ve never asked you for nothing. If you waste your time, it ain’t because of me.”