Total pages in book: 135
Estimated words: 137310 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 687(@200wpm)___ 549(@250wpm)___ 458(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 137310 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 687(@200wpm)___ 549(@250wpm)___ 458(@300wpm)
“Yeah,” he murmured and flipped on the signal to indicate our turn into Dad’s community.
His community was gated, but he left our names at the gate, thus the attendant let us through with no issue.
The reminder of the gate, however, made me wonder how Hugger’s brothers were looking after my father when he was home.
“Might not have grown up with much,” Hugger began, “but he found his way to it.”
He had, and the mini mansions in Dad’s neighborhood screamed it.
Not long later, Hugger pulled into Dad’s hacienda style home on a low whistle.
“You okay?” I asked as he parked.
He turned to me and asked in return, “You mean, am I intimidated by the fact the man who owns this home doesn’t have to have a big dick?”
I burst out laughing again.
I stopped when he drew the backs of his fingers down my jaw and said, “No, babe. Learned a long time ago, I am who I am, I got what I got, and if people think shit about it, fuck ’em. Also, no good comes from wanting what you haven’t got. If you want it enough, get it. If you don’t get it, you either didn’t want it bad enough or it wasn’t yours to have.”
Okay, we were in my dad’s driveway, a place I hadn’t been in a decade, and the imminent dinner was anxiety-inducing, to say the least.
It didn’t matter.
I let my seatbelt fly and leaned across the short expanse to press my lips to Hugger’s.
He caught me at the back of my neck, so I tilted my head and opened my mouth.
He angled his head and accepted my invitation.
And I had Hugger’s tongue back, his taste, the darkness of it, the manliness of it, the thrill of it.
All of it was sublime.
Fortunately, he ended the kiss before I crawled into his lap, which was what I was keen to do, but I figured dry humping Hugger in my Fiat in Dad’s driveway might not lend to us having a successful mending-fences dinner with my dad.
“Let’s do this,” he whispered.
I nodded.
He touched his mouth to mine then got out of the car.
I took hold of the gin, my tote, got out, rounded the hood, and there was no hand holding as we walked to the front door.
Nope, Hugger threw his arm around my shoulders and guided me there. He also hit the bell.
We didn’t stand there for very long before Dad, wearing casual gray trousers and a silvery-blue long-sleeved polo shirt, opened the door.
He looked at me first, smiled, then looked up at Hugger, his smile vanished and his eyes got huge.
Oh boy.
“Hey, Dad,” I greeted.
Dad tore his attention from Hugger and looked back at me.
“I got you some gin,” I announced, then pushed the bottle his direction.
Dang, I was nervous.
He stared at the bottle.
He glanced at Hugger.
Then he looked at me with such relief and warmth in his eyes, my legs nearly buckled.
He took the bottle from me like it was priceless crystal and bid, “Come inside.”
We did, but I did it shakily due to Dad acting like Hendrick’s was priceless.
I mean, he lived in a seven thousand square foot pad in Paradise Valley, he could afford better than Hendrick’s, even if Hendrick’s was great.
“This is Harlan,” I said, indicating Hugger with a weird, restless flick of my hand. “Harlan McCain. Harlan, this is my dad. Nolan Armitage.”
Dad offered a hand. “Harlan.”
Hugger took it. “Nolan.”
“Let’s get in and get you some drinks,” Dad invited when they broke.
As we followed him, I noticed Dad had added a few pieces to his collection of art, but other than that, the home I shared with him when we moved into it when I was fifteen hadn’t changed much.
We hit the back family room, which was close to the kitchen, and on the other side was the dining room, all of which had views to the beautifully landscaped courtyard and the equally beautifully landscaped pool in the backyard, and Dad offered, “What can I get you to drink?”
I wanted to mainline vodka, so I said, “A dirty martini.”
Dad nodded and turned to Hugger.
“I’m drivin’, so nothin’, unless you got a pop,” he said.
“I’ve got Coke and Sprite,” Dad told him.
“Coke’d do me,” Hugger replied.
Dad went to the built-in bar, saying, “Make yourselves comfortable.”
God, this was so strange.
I kinda grew up here. This had been my home. And as far as I knew, a person’s childhood home, no matter they moved into it when they were a teenager, and moved out of it still as a teenager, was always their home.
But I felt like a stranger here, and it made it worse when Dad urged me to make myself comfortable.
Hugger pulled me to one of two white couches facing each other perpendicular to an adobe fireplace.
We sat, doing it close at Hugger’s physical command, and Hugger remarked, “Nice house.”