Total pages in book: 45
Estimated words: 41725 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 209(@200wpm)___ 167(@250wpm)___ 139(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 41725 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 209(@200wpm)___ 167(@250wpm)___ 139(@300wpm)
“Of course the school loved them. How could anyone not? Dr. Brighton said they’re in.” I sighed heavily. “It’s me. I’m the moron. Always me.”
“Aww.” Fen ruffled my hair. “What’s wrong, boo?”
I waved a hand. “The usual. I’m hopelessly in love with my boss. He’s hopelessly oblivious.”
“Ah. That.” She sighed. “What happened this time?”
I glanced up at her. “He sounded weird on the phone. He was calling from the car on his way from the school to the hospital, so maybe he was in work mode, but he didn’t seem as excited as he should be. This is huge for the girls, you know? It almost felt like there was something he wasn’t telling me. Sooo…” I winced. “I panicked. I was immediately convinced that Dr. Brighton had finally, four years in, apropos of nothing, noticed the giant, bulging heart-eyes I get whenever I’m around him and realized I had feelings for him—”
“Brody,” she laughed, shaking her head. “Babydoll…”
“Yeah, I know. I’m ridiculous.” I sat upright again. “But it gets worse. I started babbling about Gym Crush Dude. You know, the cute guy at my gym with the tattoos?”
She twisted her lips in thought and tilted her head until one of her two short pigtails was sticking straight up. “The one who’s married? With children?”
“Right, but Grant—I mean, Dr. Brighton—doesn’t know that. So I talked about how Gym Crush Dude was, like, so my type, with his muscles and blue eyes and tattoos—”
“Nooo,” she moaned. “When he’s the exact opposite of your actual type, which is brown-eyed, buttoned-up workaholics with adorable daughters?”
“Basically. And, like, Dr. Brighton knows I’m gay, but I have no idea how he identifies since he doesn’t date—though he was in a relationship with a woman for long enough to have three children, so I’m guessing pretty straight—which means it’s particularly mortifying that I started babbling about bulging biceps and dick prints—”
Fen gasped, but her eyes danced. “You did not mention Gym Crush Dude’s dick print! What did Dr. Boss say?”
“He was horrified. I mean, he was really sweet and supportive and perfect, as usual. Like, ‘Oh. That’s… great for you, Brody. I hope things work out.’ But there was this looooong awkward pause first, during which I died and only resuscitated myself because somebody needs to take Mia to dance this afternoon.” I groaned and laid my forehead back on the computer. “How has he not fired me yet?”
“Because you’re adorable. And the girls love you most. He couldn’t run that household without you. Want more reasons?”
“No.” I knew she was right, at least about the girls. “I just wish I didn’t always come off as the clueless young college kid he thinks I am. When we’re around the girls, everything is fine. I’m a normal person. He listens to me tell him about my classes, he vents to me about frustrations at work, he rolls his eyes to me about his sister, I talk about my friends. It’s like an actual… friendship,” I said at the last moment, because admitting that what I shared with my boss was basically the most satisfying relationship I’d ever had was just a little too pathetic. “But when we’re alone, for some reason, I say the stupidest things. I wish I could talk to him and be…” I waved a hand, trying to grasp for the right words. “Interesting, worldly, fascinating—”
“Brody, sweetheart, you are interesting. You’re amazing. No, stop,” she said when I sat up and began shaking my head. She plucked my hand from the table and held it tightly in both of hers. “I’m serious. You’ve dealt with so many challenges—losing your parents and your brother in that accident, living on your own, putting yourself through college—”
“Fen, I love you, but that’s not the same thing. Grant—crap. I need to stop slipping up, or I’m gonna end up calling him that to his face one of these days. Dr. Brighton is a freaking trauma surgeon. He goes to work every day and puts his hands inside people’s bodies and puts them back together. He saves lives. He speaks fluent Spanish. He volunteers at a clinic downtown. He’s just… a really good person.”
“Yes, he’s a nice guy, and yes, he does important work,” she agreed, “but so do you—”
“His ex-wife just won an award for some photos she took of the floods in Australia that brought a lot of attention to the crisis,” the throbbing bruise of jealousy in the center of my chest compelled me to add.
Fen huffed and let go of my hand to drink her coffee. “Liza also left town five years ago, and she only comes back for a week here and there to see her kids. Which is fine, that’s her choice, and I’m sure she has many excellent qualities. But she’s no saint, babydoll.”