Total pages in book: 196
Estimated words: 186555 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 933(@200wpm)___ 746(@250wpm)___ 622(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 186555 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 933(@200wpm)___ 746(@250wpm)___ 622(@300wpm)
I leaned my hip against the counter and watched as Am slowly moved toward the fridge, still giving me that funny-ass look before ducking in there to root around. He pulled out a can of strawberry soda before pulling out another one and turning to hold it up for me.
I nodded, processing the drink for a second before answering. “What Am said. There’s a huge stain on the ceiling of the garage. There’s water dripping. We moved everything we could out and into the studio upstairs. We turned off the water and the electricity off at the breaker box.”
His exhale was deep, but it didn’t shake.
“I’m sorry, Rhodes. Want me to call a plumber?”
“No, I know one. I’ll give him a call. Sounds like it might be a burst pipe. I was just in the garage this morning and didn’t notice anything, so I don’t think it’s a leak.”
“Yeah, I’m sorry. I promise I didn’t flood it or do anything weird.” I paused. “I’ll leave everything off for now.”
“Put your groceries in our fridge. I’ll tell Am to sleep on the sofa and you can take his room. It shouldn’t get below freezing tonight, so the pipes should be fine today, but it’ll be too cold for you to stay over there.”
I blinked. Stay in Amos’s room? In their house?
Did I want to go stay in a hotel? I could, of course, I could.
But stay in the same house as Rhodes? Mr. Flirty McFlirterson now?
Some part of my body perked up, and I wasn’t going to think twice about which part it was.
“Are you sure?” I asked. “About me staying with you two?”
His voice suddenly went low. “You think I’d invite you to stay if I didn’t want you to?”
Yeah, my body parts were awake. And out of control. “No.”
“Okay.”
“But I can sleep on the couch. Or, seriously, I can stay at a hotel or ask Clara—”
“You don’t need to go stay at a hotel, and they don’t have much room at their house.”
“Then I’ll sleep on the couch.”
“We’ll argue over it later,” he said. “I’ve got a few more spots I want to check out, and then I’ll be heading home. Take your stuff over and everything in your fridge so it doesn’t go bad. You got anything heavy, leave it and I’ll grab it when I get home.”
I swallowed. “You’re sure?”
“Yeah, angel, I’m sure. I’ll be home soon.”
I hung up the phone, feeling… jittery? Staying in the house was no big deal, okay. But it kind of felt like it at the same time.
I liked Rhodes way too much. In small, subtle ways that got under my skin. I liked how good of a father he was, how much he loved his son. And even though I’d loved someone once who had adored a family member more than he would ever care about me, in this case, that love was for very different reasons and in very different ways. He loved him enough to be tough but at the same time let him be his own person.
Rhodes was no Mrs. Jones.
I’d liked him even when he gave me the stink eye. And I had no idea what his plans were. Plans with me. I knew what I wouldn’t mind them looking like but….
I happened to look over and found Amos leaning against the counter, looking way too introspective.
“What?” I asked him, popping the tab on my own soda and taking a sip.
The boy shook his head.
“You can tell me anything, Little Sting, and I can tell you want to.”
That seemed to be enough for him. “Are you flirting with my dad?” he straight-up asked.
I almost spit the soda out. “No…?”
He blinked. “No?”
“Maybe?”
Amos raised an eyebrow.
It was my turn to blink. “Yes, okay. Yes. But I flirt with everyone. Men and women. Children. You should see me around pets. I used to have a fish, and I sweet-talked her too. Her name was Gretchen Wiener. I miss her.” She had passed away a few years ago, but I still thought about her from time to time. She’d been a good travel companion. Not fussy at all.
That had the teenager’s cheeks going puffy for a second.
He fucking liked me. I knew it.
“Does it bother you if I flirt with your dad?” I paused. “Would it bother you if I liked him?” That wasn’t the best word to describe it, but it was the simplest.
That got him to scoff. “No! I’m sixteen not five.”
“But you’re still his wittle baby, Am. And my feelings won’t be hurt”—that was a lie, they would be—“if you weren’t okay with it. You’re my friend too. Just like your dad. I don’t want to make things weird.”
The kid gave me a disgusted expression that made me laugh. “I don’t care. We already talked about it anyway.”
“You did?”