Total pages in book: 62
Estimated words: 60931 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 305(@200wpm)___ 244(@250wpm)___ 203(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 60931 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 305(@200wpm)___ 244(@250wpm)___ 203(@300wpm)
“Controlling,” Dad says. “Eric likes to tell me what to do, when to do it, and how to do it. I don’t know who he thinks raised him.”
“Mom raised me.” I mock him with the same ridiculous kind of wink he gave Anna.
“That’s because you suckled at the teat until you went to school. What do they call that…” he snaps his fingers several times. “Cockblocking. You were a little cockblocker.”
Anna snorts.
Dad reaches over and squeezes my shoulder. “But I forgive you.”
“I didn’t ‘suckle at the teat’ until I went to school. Your memory sucks.” I can’t say the words and keep a straight face. After the initial embarrassment wears off, I find great pleasure in seeing my dad like this.
Smiling.
Laughing.
Joking.
Showered.
Eating.
Drinking something besides alcohol.
Alive. My dad’s taken an enormous step away from the drain.
I’m too damn happy about that to care about the circumstances that brought it to fruition—namely, Anna. She makes everything better. Don’t get me wrong; I will have to burn the loofah and thoroughly clean her bathroom. Ten bucks says his streaked underwear is sitting on her vanity next to the sink.
“Nah …” Dad sits back, resting his arm along the back of the sofa. “Eric was a good baby. Never cried. Slept through the night. Walked at nine months. His first word was bye-bye because She …” He clears his throat and gives Anna a half smile. “Alice used to say, ‘Tell your daddy bye-bye.’ And she took his chubby little wrist and made him wave to me before I headed to work. And reading … Eric was reading chapter books by four—such a smart little peanut. And, of course, his mother and I loved it since our family owned a publishing company. Did he mention that, Anna?”
I’d rather go back to talking about me suckling at my mom’s teat than discuss books and publishing. And … my dad’s lying about all of it. Is this his idea of being a wingman? I was the opposite of everything he just said.
Anna doesn’t skip a beat. “He did mention that.” She sips her coffee, not giving me a single glance.
“Are you an avid reader?” he asks.
I try to sink into the sofa, hoping the oversized cushions swallow me whole.
“I love books. We had a book club when I lived in Des Moines in the same complex as Eric. Eric joined us shortly after he moved into the building. Did he mention that to you?”
Fuck. Make it stop. I didn’t tell my family about Anna. But I was honest about her book. I said it wasn’t the right fit for our publishing house, and coffee got spilled on my copy of it, so I had nothing to send back to them with notes.
“You were in a book club?” Dad’s head tips back on a hearty laugh. “That must have been interesting.”
“I was—” I start to defend myself, but Anna cuts me off.
“Why do you say that, Will?”
Will. Can she stop calling him that?
“Eric has a very selective taste in books. Don’t get me wrong; his taste is impeccable, but not many books make it onto his short list of recommendations. I imagine him being a Scrooge in a book club.”
Scrubbing my hands over my face, I grumble nothing in particular, just displeasure and pain. “Dad, we should let Anna rest. She’s still recovering from her injury.”
“Eric didn’t like the book our club read,” Anna says, taking a roller truck to my heart and squeezing every last bit of regret from it.
I keep my head bowed in shame. What can I say?
“Did everyone else like it?” Dad asks.
“Yes. But there was no requirement to like the book. However, there was this one girl who loved the book. I mean … you would have thought she wrote the book. And she was not a fan of Eric’s critique.”
Dad chuckles.
“I was a dick.” My gaze stretches from the mug of coffee to Anna’s innocent eyes.
What’s her crime? Being passionate about telling a story?
“I think she was caught up in the story and missed the finer details, like how the story could have been told better. It could have been more concise, better edited, and less indulgent in areas,” Anna says.
“Sounds like you know your stuff,” Dad says to Anna. “No wonder Eric’s so smitten with you.”
Anna blushes, and maybe I do too. But I don’t look away, even when she averts her gaze. I’m smitten as fuck with her. And I’m owning it. Maybe I have no idea where we’re going. Maybe we have nowhere to go. It’s pretty much the theme of my life. Why should my love life be any different?
Love.
Do I love Anna?
“What do you think? Should we head back to the hotel and let her rest?” Dad stands, taking his mug and plate to the kitchen.
“Stay,” Anna says to him while returning her gaze to me. “I need to shower, but I’d love for you both to stay if you don’t have other plans.”