Total pages in book: 139
Estimated words: 141281 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 706(@200wpm)___ 565(@250wpm)___ 471(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 141281 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 706(@200wpm)___ 565(@250wpm)___ 471(@300wpm)
Bitterness shields your own sanity.
Delia’s eyes are wider now, deep and sad and staring.
I shrug, staring out at the ocean on the horizon. The thick clouds moving in before nightfall make the waves one large moving landscape of grey.
“I’m so sorry,” Delia whispers again, her hand brushing mine before she jerks away. “With Dad, I think it’s desperation. He’s kinda been a hot mess ever since Mom walked out. He’s been taking more of a back seat with company business the last few years, leaving him too much time to think. Too much time for trouble, too, I guess.”
I finish my second glass and top us off again.
“Yeah, I get it. Gotta warn you, though, I’m not exactly fit to be your shoulder to cry on. I’m not fit to be anyone’s. Not that I don’t mind trying. I’m just not around often enough, and my work is fucking complicated,” I add, staring deep into her eyes. “Is that why you really wanted me here or what?”
Maybe it’s the booze in my system, but I’m done playing around.
Uncle Sam taught me to be sharp and direct. You don’t get far in a SEAL team being anything different.
I want to get to the heart of what else she wants, and if she won’t play, I’m out for the night.
Venting only goes so far.
Dwelling on our family bullshit just pours acid on the soul, and I’m not interested in being worn down to nothing.
I swore there are three things I’ll never do with any woman a long-ass time ago.
No drama.
No therapy.
And absolutely no goddamned love.
“I just... I want to know you, Chris. You’re one of the more interesting people I’ve ever met,” she says, slapping her thigh. “I mean, it’s not every day you meet a Navy SEAL.”
“Ex-SEAL,” I correct. “Though the private gig I’m doing now isn’t too different some days.”
“Right.” Delia looks up, her eyes softer, more nervous. “So, there’s this project coming up for my senior thesis, the last thing I need to get through before I graduate. I’ve been stressing hard about it, aside from everything else going on. I figured I don’t need an estranged stepbrother too, you know? Part of the reason I wanted to talk is to clear the air, like I told you.”
She offers a hand, her small fingers trembling.
I’m not the touchy-feely kind, but hell if I’m passing on any opportunity to touch her again.
I reach out, thread my fingers through hers, and squeeze.
“Consider it sky blue. That’s not everything, though, is it?”
“Not quite,” she says, falling silent, her face an anxious mask.
“Relax, woman. This isn’t the inquisition; I just want to know what’s on your mind. You’re in a weird place in your life, one step away from making it on your own. I’ve been there too,” I say, stroking my chin. “You’re a little younger than me. You haven’t started your life yet with stuffy dickhead reporters and selling pretty pictures off for insane amounts, but I promise you it’s coming.”
She blushes when I mention the painting.
“Oh, no. The 'pretty pictures' are just a little hobby of mine. I’m definitely not cut out to be a starving artist or whatever...”
“It’s your life.” I shrug. “I promise you this shit gets better when you’re finally out on your own. Even the family crap. You want some brotherly advice? Here it is. Finish school. Find a good career. Leave this shitty freak show of a family behind. My mother is a drama-bomb with a facelift, and you can’t be your dad’s rock forever. Eventually he has to man up and deal with his mistakes. All you can do is live and try not to make too many of your own, Delia.”
She sniffs hard.
Oh, shit.
Is she trying not to cry?
“It’s...it’s not that simple. You’ve had more action in your pinky than I’ve had my entire life.” The sadness in her eyes fades when she looks up, curiosity flickering in her big brown eyes. “What’s it like out there? Tell me what you did when you traveled...”
I lean back in my chair, mulling it over.
“The first rule about being a SEAL is you don’t talk about what happens when you’re a SEAL,” I tell her.
She slides off the chair and stands, causing her plump tits to bounce.
“Come on, Chris. There must be something you can tell me. I’m not a spy and I’m not asking for supersecret details. How did it make you feel?”
I don’t like her hovering over me unless she’s about to fall into my lap.
My hand darts out and I grab her, pulling her down.
She crashes against my chest with a squeal. My hand slides lower, aiming for that grippable ass.
When I squeeze her ass cheek, she gasps.
As long as I’m breathing, I’ll never get sick of hearing that sound.
“You wanna play truth or dare? Is that what this is?” I rumble in her ear.