Total pages in book: 109
Estimated words: 105080 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 525(@200wpm)___ 420(@250wpm)___ 350(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 105080 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 525(@200wpm)___ 420(@250wpm)___ 350(@300wpm)
“Why do you look like you’re gonna throw up?” Anson asked from the driver’s seat of his SUV as he drove us to his mom’s house.
“I looked at your face.” Reverting back to a twelve-year-old was a good way to cover my insecurities.
Anson rolled his eyes. “Why are you such a dork?”
“I know you are, but what am I?”
“Nervous.”
Ugh. Of course he had to go and get serious on me. “This isn’t about me.” It was about him. He was the one with everything to lose.
“Baby…it’s okay to be scared too. I’m freaking the fuck out.” He’d put on his ball cap and sunglasses for the drive over, and I saw the edginess in his sharp movements and the light tremble of his hand.
“Yeah, but you’re supposed to.”
“This is about you too,” Anson countered, and it was, but not in the same way.
“I don’t want to come between you and your family. I know what it’s like not to have family. It’s shitty, and I was never as close to mine as you are to yours.”
“She’s not walking away. She said so last night. She invited us over, West. And if something happens and she changes her mind, that’s not on you. It’s on her. I love you. I want a life with you, even if we can only be out together around certain people. We’re in this together.”
He was right. Of course he was right. He was also trying to be strong for me. I could see the fear in him. He could use logic all day long, explaining that she knew and said she loved him and had invited me over, but we both knew emotions didn’t pay attention to logic.
Leaning against the headrest, I turned to look at him. “Having feelings sucks. I’m pissed as hell at you for making me do it.”
His loud bark of laughter settled into my bones, soothing some of my tension.
I added, “I’m serious. It’s like now I have things at stake, and I’m emotional and needy and second-guessing everything. I have depth. Why would anyone choose this, Bashful? I don’t understand. Before you, I was perfectly fine going through life being shallow.”
He chuckled again. “You were never shallow. You just liked to pretend you were. You’ve always felt things, probably more than most people. If you didn’t, we wouldn’t be where we are. It’s because you have depth that you reached out to me.”
My heart thumped to the beat of the words thank you. “So you’re saying this is all my fault, and I should be mad at myself?”
We were at a red light. Anson pulled his sunglasses down his nose and winked. “This is all your fault, baby. No backing out now.”
“I wouldn’t think of it,” I answered sincerely. “And I’ve got your back today. I’m just getting my stress out now. This day is about you.”
“It’s about us.” He pulled away from the light, watching the road as he said, “It’ll be okay,” but the tremble in his voice told me he wasn’t any surer of that than I was.
We were quiet the rest of the trip. When Anson pulled into the driveway and killed the engine, I reached out to cup his face, but he flinched and pulled back. She didn’t have neighbors terribly close, so I hadn’t thought it would matter. “Sorry.”
“No, that’s my fault. You shouldn’t have to apologize. I don’t know what I’m thinking. That photographers are camped out in my mom’s bushes?”
“You never know. You are a Super Bowl champion.”
“True,” he replied with playful bravado. “Sometimes I forget how awesome I am.” Anson nodded toward the house. “Let’s do this.”
“Hey,” I said before he could open the door. “Thank you…for loving me this much.” I tried to turn away, but this time it was Anson who reached over, cupped my face, and pressed a quick kiss to my lips before pulling away.
“Thank you for loving me this much too. I know it’s not easy.”
But it was easy. I’d had all these big plans for my life, and while I’d accomplished goals—law school, government—I’d yet to make my dreams come true, and maybe I didn’t fully know what those were yet. Anson was the only thing I felt like I got one hundred percent right.
Introductions were awkward when we went inside. Elias was there already, clearly wanting to ease the tension, but one look at Anson’s mom, Cheryl, told me she didn’t trust me.
We sat down in the living room. I smelled something cooking, but I wasn’t sure what it was. “You have a beautiful home,” I said, which was stupid, an obvious space filler, but nothing else would come to me.
“Thank you. I have my Anson to thank for that. He’s worked so hard to follow his heart and make his dreams come true. I couldn’t be prouder of him.”