Total pages in book: 71
Estimated words: 68413 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 342(@200wpm)___ 274(@250wpm)___ 228(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 68413 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 342(@200wpm)___ 274(@250wpm)___ 228(@300wpm)
“Take the stuff you bought back to the store. I don’t need it,” I say, getting back to the conversation at hand.
“I’m not taking them back. I bought them for you. Plus, I got a great deal.” She pulls out a set of sheets that are covered in flowers. Bright, colorful fucking flowers. Then she pulls out a comforter covered with the same floral pattern.
What the hell?
“Seriously?” I look from the sheets, comforter, and throw pillows my mom is setting on the couch to her.
“Aren’t they pretty?” She picks up one of the bright-pink pillows—which is also in the shape of a flower.
“Take them back,” I demand, grabbing two mugs out of the cupboard.
“Libby will like them.”
“Libby doesn’t live with me.”
“She might one day.”
I look over at her. Libby was right. We should have kept things just between us for a while. I didn’t only because, with all the bad shit coming at my mom, I wanted her to have something good to think about. I’m starting to see the error of my ways.
“Maybe, but that day isn’t today.”
“I was just trying to help,” she says, sounding dejected. She comes into the kitchen, and I sigh as I give her a hug. “Do you like her?” She tips her head back to look up at me.
I feel my gut get uncomfortably tight but push past it to answer, “Yeah.”
She nods. “She’s a good girl.”
“She is,” I agree.
I didn’t know it before. I couldn’t have known it before because I didn’t even try to find out. But now I know she’s a good woman, a sweet woman, a hardworking woman.
Yeah, I like her . . . maybe too much.
“I hope it works out between you two. I want a grandbaby.”
I look up at the ceiling.
“Can I date her for a month before you and her mom start working on getting grandchildren out of us?”
“It sounds like I should meet her mom.”
“That’s not going to happen.”
“Why not?” She shoves my chest playfully.
“Because you are bad enough on your own. If you had someone to plot with, you’d be out of control.”
“You aren’t getting any younger, Antonio.”
“I think I got a while before I need to start worrying about my age affecting my ability to father children.”
“A while?” she repeats.
“A while,” I concur, laughing when her eyes fill with disappointment.
Yeah, Libby was right. I should have kept my mouth shut.
Taking the garbage out at the restaurant, I stop and then stare at the small kitten whose face is in the bowl of milk Libby put out earlier in the evening. When the kitten finally notices me, his head—I decide it’s a “he” for some reason—comes up out of the bowl. He blinks his bright-blue eyes. Even covered in grime, the little guy is cute.
“Hey, buddy.” I get down on my haunches, and he backs up a step. “It’s okay.” I slowly stick out my hand toward him. “I won’t hurt you.” He takes one step toward me, and then another and another until his cold wet nose is pressed against the tips of my fingers. “You’re kind of cute.” I let him sniff my fingertips before I run my index finger up the bridge of his nose to the top of his head. His back arches, and I grin and slide my fingers along his back. “Do you think you’d let me pick you up without biting the shit out of me?” I ask him as he rubs his face against my hand, forcing me to pet him. “You’re gonna make my girl happy. I think you might just gain me some ground with her.” I carefully scoop him up. I expect him to start hissing, biting, and scratching, but instead he looks up at me and blinks again. He tilts his head to the side. Smiling, I pick up the trash and drop it in the dumpster, then take him through the back door and head for the office—I know Libby is there. When I get there, I find her putting on her coat. “Got a surprise for you,” I say.
Her eyes are drawn to my chest, where the kitten is resting in one of my palms.
“Oh my god.” She comes toward me slowly. “How did you catch him?”
“He was drinking the milk you left out. He didn’t run when he saw me.”
She takes another step, then slowly reaches out her hand toward the kitten and touches one finger to the top of his head.
“Did he bite you or anything?” She looks up at me, but I shake my head no. “So he’s not wild.”
“I didn’t say that, Princess,” I murmur.
She grins, then drops her eyes back to the kitten and starts petting him once more.
“You are so cute, Mr. Blue Eyes,” she murmurs, rubbing him behind his tiny ears. “You’re also really dirty.” Her nose scrunches up.