Total pages in book: 80
Estimated words: 78108 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 391(@200wpm)___ 312(@250wpm)___ 260(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 78108 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 391(@200wpm)___ 312(@250wpm)___ 260(@300wpm)
“I know, right? Figured he’d work forever.”
“Same here. And you’re going to his party?” She sounds wary. Maybe even a little protective of me. That’s sweet but unnecessary. I can handle Dad on my own. I’ve been doing it since I was thirteen.
“I have to,” I grit out. But there’s a silver lining to returning home. “Maybe we can do any necessary work on the house ourselves before we sell it. I truly don’t think it needs much, but I’m pretty handy.”
“Which is weird. You know that, right? Shrinks shouldn’t be handy.”
I raise my arms, the evidence. “I’m a man of many talents. I know how to use my hands. I can fix things.”
Her eyes pop, and for a second, I think she will make a naughty comment about being good with my hands, especially when her lips twitch in a smile. Instead, she says, “You just want the distraction from having to see your father.” But her teasing is full of sympathy and understanding.
“Exactly. I usually take a few weeks off from my practice during the summer, anyway, so the timing should be good,” I say.
What better place to spend one of those off weeks than the town where I acquired all my old wounds in the first place? Of course, mine are already healed, but it could be a good refresher, nonetheless. One I could use to help others.
“So, you and I would go? And what? Push each other’s buttons the whole time?” Juliet asks, but she sounds like she’s saying keep convincing me, I’m almost there.
“It’s our favorite pastime,” I say.
She snorts. “Speak for yourself.”
“You know you like pushing buttons, Juliet,” I say, goading her toward a yes, surprised at how much I want her to say that word, maybe because I want her to get out of the city with me for a week.
“Are you willing to bet on that?” she retorts.
“As if you didn’t love the bet.”
She rolls her eyes, then lets out a sigh. “Fine. I admit the idea of checking out this house is intriguing.”
I pump a fist.
“Try not to be too excited,” she says.
“What? I like money. So sue me.”
“I like it too. Plus, my mom is nearby. I haven’t seen her since the split,” she says.
I give her a sympathetic smile. Having supported adults with older divorcing parents, I know that’s not an easy situation to deal with.
She picks up a piece of cheese, pops it between those pretty lips, chews. Then she nods. “I have clients to meet with tomorrow, but nothing in town this upcoming week.”
C’mon. We’re almost there.
Aloud, I say nothing and patiently wait for her to get to “yes.”
She gives a decisive nod. “I have a party to host on Saturday afternoon. Let’s leave on Sunday.”
Yes. Fucking yes!
“I’ll be at your door with the top down.” I taste a chunk of Comté and aim a derisive scoff after the long-gone Elijah. “He missed out,” I say, and a beat later, I realize the double meaning in my words. “The cheese,” I clarify.
She’s silent for a few seconds. “Yes, of course. The cheese.” She sounds defeated, maybe a little hurt. Well, that guy was a dick. It’s a good thing I arrived in the nick of time. Because fuck men like him.
At least I know I’m bad news for a woman, and I’ve never pretended to be dating material. But guys who act like they’ll be there for you and then aren’t? Those guys need to learn their lesson.
And Juliet sure looks like she needs a break from all these city men. “A week out of town will do you some good,” I say.
“Are you saying you know what’s best for me?”
Ah, there she is. “That’s my sparring partner.”
“Yep. Ready to spar and push buttons. And now I should pay my bill.”
She rises, grabbing her purse, but I wave her off. “Cheese Douche paid it.”
“Oh.” She stops in her tracks. “I’d have thought he’d protest.”
“He did. He tried to convince me splitting the bill was feminist and that you’d appreciate his respect for women.” She snort-laughs, and I add, “I told him insulting his date was anti-feminist, so he could damn well part ways with his cash. But if he hadn’t forked it over, I’d have paid.”
“You would have?”
I lock eyes with her. “I made it pretty clear that a man pays for a woman on the first date, no matter how it ends.”
Her lips part, and a breath of surprise coasts past them. “That was…nice of you,” she says with softness around her mouth.
“Don’t mention it,” I say.
And I won’t mention that I like the way she said that—that was nice of you.
Instead, we make our way out of the bar and finalize our plans to get out of town.
There are worse ways to spend a week than fixing up a house with a beautiful woman, even if that beautiful woman is a friend you should never have dated, even when you were young and foolish.