Total pages in book: 158
Estimated words: 151469 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 757(@200wpm)___ 606(@250wpm)___ 505(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 151469 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 757(@200wpm)___ 606(@250wpm)___ 505(@300wpm)
He pours the contents of the blender into two glasses, pushing one toward me. “The first step to your recovery,” he says quietly.
“Really?”
“Or was the first step to your recovery our first kiss?”
I shoot my eyes up to find his, startled. “What?”
His smile is faint as he reaches over and places a fingertip on the bottom of my glass, helping it to my mouth. “Drink, Beau.”
“What’s in it?” I ask quietly, accepting and taking a sip of the concoction. I get blueberries. Banana. “Is that broccoli?” I ask, swallowing and holding the glass in front of me, assessing the green slop.
“It’s loaded with protein to repair your muscles.” He downs half in one fell swoop. “I added some mango too.”
I still, watching him finish the other half. “Why would you add mango?”
“Because you like it,” he says, straight faced. “Drink. You need it.”
Need. How can a man I hardly know be so sure of what I need? But he does. And it isn’t only this drink. I slowly work my way through the glass as James watches me, and when I’m done, he takes it, sets it down, and leans over the counter. “I thought I wasn’t going to see you again after you left Biscayne Bay.”
“You weren’t,” I admit. No playing games, no lies.
He nods mildly. “So what happened to bring you to my door again?”
“Do you have a kid?” I blurt out of nowhere, and he recoils, blinking. “Actually, don’t tell me.”
“Why?” he asks, pushing his palms into the counter and straightening.
Oh God. He has. He has a kid. “Forget I said anything.”
“No,” he says. “Would it be a problem if I did?”
I nibble brutally on my lip, damning myself to hell and back. Yes, it would be a problem, and I hate myself for that. I look away. “I don’t think I’m the kind of woman a man should consider introducing to their child.”
“Why?”
Why? Isn’t it obvious? On the outside to most people, I’m relatively together. Relatively content. But on the inside, past the mask, I’m a mess. Bitter. Twisted. And James knows it. No parent should inflict such darkness on their child. More than that, and, again, God save my soul, I don’t want to share him. I don’t want to have anything infiltrate this glass box and remind me that I’m living in the clouds. That real life is happening, and it needs to be dealt with.
“Why, Beau?” James pushes, and I peek at him, feeling stupid, guilty, deplorable.
“You wouldn’t understand.”
“Try me.” He isn’t going to let this go.
I sigh and relent. “My dad abandoned me.”
“Oh, so you have daddy issues,” he says, and I laugh, truly amused by his perfectly timed candor. I have way more than daddy issues, but . . . if it makes him happy.
“He’s not a very admirable man. Well, to me. Everyone else thinks he’s God’s gift.”
“Why?”
I roll my eyes. “Why do you have to push everything?” I ask, exasperated. “You ask, I tell, and the next thing I know I’m having twenty questions thrown at me.”
“Oh, of course, I forgot. We just fuck, right?” He curves an eyebrow, taking the blender to the sink and rinsing it. I narrow my eyes on his back. His beautifully damaged back. I’m not sure at what point it went from ugly to beautiful, but it has. What does that mean? “I don’t have a kid, Beau,” he says to the faucet.
I blink, moving back on my stool. “You don’t?”
“No. What made you think that?”
“Your other name. The fact you’ve said repeatedly I’m getting more than I bargained for.”
He sets the rinsed jug on the side and comes back to the island, resuming his position, leaning in toward me. He reaches for my arm and runs a light thumb over my wrist. “Way more than you bargained for.”
I look at the broken skin. “And your other name?”
“So you want to know?”
I look up at him, my eyes annoyed slits. His are dancing, thrilled by my turnabout. “No, I don’t,” I grate. Damn it, I do. “Will it change things?” I ask. “If I know your other name, will it change things?”
His smile falters, but he quickly corrects it. But not quick enough. What was that? “It won’t change a thing. Not for me.”
“But it could for me?” I ask.
“I don’t know.”
Frustration flares, powerful and unstoppable. I growl to myself and pull my arm free, getting up and walking away before I show him how desperate I am to know. To know everything. I do want to know because he’s dangling the carrot unapologetically. Fuck him. And I don’t want to know because it might change things for me. Fuck me. I’m in an impossible situation. I can’t do this anymore. The release . . . God, the release is good. But the ever-present tension? That I don’t love.