Total pages in book: 70
Estimated words: 67733 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 339(@200wpm)___ 271(@250wpm)___ 226(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 67733 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 339(@200wpm)___ 271(@250wpm)___ 226(@300wpm)
“Don’t tell me what I mean,” she playfully fusses back. “Coño, yo dije lo que dije y no puedo hablar de burros.”
My confession is given on an awkward chuckle, “I know what like two of those words are.”
The three of them laugh like a unit, yet it’s his mother that sweetly announces, “You’ll learn, mami. Give it time.”
“She’s got all the time in world,” Tate retorts, thumb sweetly stroking my arm. “I’m not letting this one go.” When my gaze drift upwards to his, he cockily adds, “Said in English so that you would know exactly what I mean.”
It’s impossible not to let my face redden, which it should be doing from the summer heat, not from suddenly feeling like the luckiest woman in the world. Butterflies flutter around my belly forcing me to mentally sever their wings as to not just jump his bones for the sweet shit he’s constantly saying.
All. The. Time.
Hand to The King of Rock-N-Roll’s white jumpsuit, he says or texts swoon-worthy shit every day.
It’s turning me into a romance fiend, which to be frank, shouldn’t even be a fucking thing!
Nat even admits she’s a little jealous at the mushy shit she sees him send.
“Tell me more about these conventions,” I enthusiastically encourage at the same time I lean into my boyfriend. “How’d you hear about them? How’d you get into them? And just how many jumpsuits does my Elvis own?”
“Do me a solid,” Tate begins, mirth caked in his tone, “from Elvis to Elvis? Do not tell her that.”
His father quirks an eyebrow prior to pinning me in place with a devilish smirk. “Currently or would you like to know how many he had as a young lad, too?”
“Any of it.” My snickers spew over into full out laughs. “All of it.”
The slew of curses that slips out of my other half are Irish at first; however, as his parents reminisce about the first time, they put tiny sideburns on him they become Spanish. Yet around the time they reveal his Elvis impersonation for the high school talent show, they transform into a weird, meshed combination of the two to the point I swear he’s invented a new language. Their stories receive multiple interruptions from a desperate Tate who wants to put everything in a less embarrassing context, and almost nonstop laughter from me. Momentary pauses are only given for us to admire and take photos of the “tour stops” in Georgia, South Carolina, and Alabama along the longer than expected hayride. Some of the pictures contain just the scenery. Some have his parents. Selfies – serious as well as goofy – are a must on both of our phones, and his impulsive need to share them across any and every social media outlet possible is somewhat sweet.
Afterwards, we return to the barn, anxious to drink something other than ice cold water we were brought during one of our Atlanta visits. Rosa and I grab a table near the stage while Ronan and Tate make their way to bar. Nervousness should set in the second we settle down. Panic and fear and more panic should all kick in as I cross my ankles. But it doesn’t.
Could be dehydration stopping the emotions from emerging.
Or it could be some magical power she has.
Either way, to say it’s relieving to not feel that shit would be an understatement.
“Tate says you met at his work,” she begins, sitting in the seat across from me. “Not as co-workers, but you were one of his regulars.”
Unsure of what else he’s mentioned is what leads me to be careful with my playful word choice. “I’d say I’m still one of his regulars.”
Rosa snickers like I hoped before inquiring, “What is it you do for a living?”
“I work for Assembly Required, a private nonprofit organization that assists in the safe transport of donated human organs and tissue from various donor programs to medical institutions like hospitals and clinics.” Pride for what I do straightens my posture. “I’m lead of the transport team, which means I help plan and prepare and execute travel routes on the ground and in the air – because I have my helicopter pilot’s license –, arrange the escort teams who will be aiding or assisting the doctor, nurse, or surgeon in the transport, create schedules, participate in the family consultations, and am also responsible for all team members training or licenses being up to date.”
An expression of shock and admiration unexpectedly appears. “And it’s my son you wanna date?”
Catching my giggles is barely done, an action that prompts her to grin.
“Don’t get me wrong, my wee one is a pretty good man-”
“He’s remarkable,” I thoughtlessly correct on a coo.
Her head tilts at the same time she places a hand over her heart. “Is he? Is he really? You know you do your best to raise them right, but you’re never actually sure if they are or just put on a good show for you. Sabes?”