Total pages in book: 59
Estimated words: 55608 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 278(@200wpm)___ 222(@250wpm)___ 185(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 55608 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 278(@200wpm)___ 222(@250wpm)___ 185(@300wpm)
“Y-yeah,” she whispers. “But…”
“But what?”
Finally, she roughly pulls her hands free and leans back so violently she almost bumps her head against the window. “I can’t talk about anything with you if it’s all just going to fall apart. I know. Go on. Call me a crazy psycho for talking like this. Fall apart. We haven’t even been on one date, but newsflash, I… I…”
“What, Molly?” I ask.
“I care about you,” she says, “which makes me the biggest idiot who’s ever lived.”
CHAPTER SEVENTEEN
Molly
It’s so difficult not to let the tears come. It’s the sheer fact that we’re together again. It’s being close to him. It’s the hints he made toward my past, my childhood, telling me I matter. I feel this connection burning deep within, screaming out for my man’s touch, the closeness, the intimacy, the love.
“I care about you, too,” he says after a pause, looking completely serious, those intense eyes fixated on me.
He takes my hand again. I know I should fight him, but I don’t. Instead, I hold tightly, almost desperately. “We don’t even know each other,” I say, my voice weak.
“We’ve been through more in a few days than most couples have in months,” he snaps. “Anyway, I don’t give a damn about convention. If we went by that, I’m nothing but a sad old pervert praying on a young woman, and you’re nothing but a gold digger. That’s what the world would see when they look at us.”
He’s talking as if we’re a team, a couple. I want it so badly. For a moment, I let myself forget about Ryan. “Fuck the world,” I snap.
He laughs, leaning closer. No, no. This is my chance to stop it, but I don’t.
When his lips crash against mine, it feels like he’s claiming me and marking me as his. I can’t think about anything else—just the taste of him, the texture, the hunger in his groan. I push against him passionately, grabbing onto his arm. He moans as our tongues clash together. He tastes so perfect, like we were made for each other. It’s so much better than kissing his son. Ew, no. I can’t think about stuff like that. I lean away. His eyes have an unhinged look to them.
“Did you still want to know why I got all emotional?” I ask, changing the subject because that thought has seriously grossed me out. Are thoughts like that always going to pop up in my mind?
He leans back. I see the restrained hunger in his expression, as if he’s struggling to hold himself back, but he nods. “Of course I do.”
“It’s like I said, nothing compared to what you went—”
“That’s the last time you devalue your feelings in front of me,” he snarls, his tone one of complete command.
I nod. Rachael says that’s a bad habit of mine, too. “Well, my dad was an alcoholic. My mom enabled him. He died when I was fourteen. There. Nice and simple. A classic cliché—”
“It’s a tragedy,” he snaps. “It’s horrible that you had to experience that. No child should have to go through that. I’m sorry, Molly. Really. I’m so, so sorry.”
He says it with so much empathy. This time, when the tears come, I can’t fight them. They burst out of me. He wraps his arms around me and pulls me close to him. I press my face against his chest, crying fiercely, remembering all the moments, the sick smiles Mom would sometimes aim at Dad as she brought him a beer. It makes him happy, Molly. It’s no big deal.
“Parents should keep each other on track,” he says, stroking my back with surprising gentleness. “They should always ensure that both are doing the best for the child. That’s what tears me up so much about…”
“It’s okay,” I tell him. “About Ryan.”
He leans back, swallows, and nods. “I tried to tell my ex that Ryan needed more challenges. On the weekends I had him, I noticed how spoiled and entitled he was becoming. I could’ve done more.”
“But it’s hard when you don’t have him with you every day,” I say.
“Which is my fault,” he sighs, sitting back. “I didn’t love his mother. That’s the cold truth. Ryan wasn’t planned. I love him, but he wasn’t planned. I tried to stay with her for his sake, but eventually, it got too damn hard. She wanted me to feel, to love. I couldn’t fake it. I told her I just wanted to stay together for our son, and then that was it. She filed for divorce. I’d only married her because my parents weren’t married. I thought I could fix the past. I was wrong.”
You still can, I almost scream, but just because we’ve shared some personal stuff about our pasts doesn’t mean everything is miraculously fixed.
“During the divorce proceedings, I did something very stupid. I got into a street fight with these three assholes who spotted me in a bar and fancied their chances with the heavyweight champ.”