Total pages in book: 103
Estimated words: 98048 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 490(@200wpm)___ 392(@250wpm)___ 327(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 98048 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 490(@200wpm)___ 392(@250wpm)___ 327(@300wpm)
“I don’t think Gen’s as confident as you are in our future,” I say ruefully.
Hell, I can barely convince Gen to spend the night, let alone agree to date me again. Since the bonfire, she’s been over at my place nearly every night. If I didn’t know any better, I’d think she was using me for sex. But it’s a lot more than that. She doesn’t bail the moment we recover from our respective orgasms. She stays to cuddle. She takes Daisy for walks with me. She even dropped off dinner for me a couple times.
But whenever I push her to define what this is, she clams up. Tells me not to overthink it. So of course, all I do is think about it.
“Then give her confidence,” Shelley says with a shrug. “You want her back, yeah?”
“Oh yeah,” I sigh.
“Then keep working at it.”
“Trust me, I’m trying.” Now I groan. “But she made it clear she’s not looking to be my girlfriend again and that all we’re doing is fucking.”
“Ahem!” comes an incensed cry. It’s Husband Pearl Clutcher. “Is it too much to ask to enjoy our meals without being surrounded by filthy language?”
I open my mouth to retort, but my mother beats me to it.
Eyes gleaming with irritation, she addresses the other table by jabbing a finger toward the man. “Hey, mister, you wanna talk about filth? You’ve been checking out my rack since the moment I sat down. And you”—she directs that at the wife—“don’t think I didn’t see you slipping your phone number to that handsome young stud of a waiter when your hubby was in the john.”
I snicker into my hand.
“Now, I’m trying to have a conversation with my son, so how ’bout you two Nosy Nellies focus on your own boring lives and mind your own damn business?”
That shuts them both up.
Shelley lifts a brow when she sees me grinning. “What? I might’ve turned a new leaf, but you can’t expect me to always turn the other cheek. Even Jesus had his limits, baby.”
I’m feeling oddly giddy as I cross the bridge and drive back to the Bay after dinner with Shelley. I can’t lie—that wasn’t awful. In fact, I … truly had a good time. Who would’ve thought?
The instinct to tell my brother about it is so strong that I end up veering off the road home, turning left instead of right. No, I can’t risk seeing Cooper right now. He’ll just ask why I’m in such a good mood, at which point I’ll have to lie, and he’ll see through the lie because of twin telepathy, and then we’ll get in a fight.
So I drive to Gen’s house instead. Parking on the curb out front, I hop off my bike and fish my phone out of my pocket. I shoot off a quick text to Gen.
Me: I’m standing outside your place like some lovesick stalker. Debating whether to throw rocks at your window or just knock on the front door.
She responds almost instantly.
Her: Use the door, you heathen. We’re adults now, remember?
I grin at the phone. True. But this is definitely a first, I reflect, as I tread up the front walk to the door, which swings open before I can ring the bell. I’m met by the sight of Genevieve’s dad, who startles when he finds me standing there.
“Evan,” he says gruffly, nodding in greeting. His gaze takes in my outfit. “You wearing khakis?”
“Uh. Yeah.” I shove my hands in the pockets of said khakis. “I had a thing in the city.”
He nods again. “Gen’s upstairs. I was just heading out to meet your uncle for a beer, actually.”
“Oh, nice. Tell him I said hey.”
“Renos are looking great,” Gen’s dad adds, gesturing in the vague direction of inside. “The new kitchen cabinets turned out nice.”
“Thanks.” I feel a little burst of pride, because I installed those cabinets myself.
“Anyway.” Ronan eyes me again. “Glad you and Gen are getting along again.” He claps my shoulder before striding off toward the pickup truck in the driveway.
I let myself in, half expecting one of Gen’s million brothers to intercept me, but the house is quiet as I head for the stairs. Last time I was here, the place was jam-packed with mourners and reverberating with hushed conversation. Tonight, all I hear are the creaks and groans of the old house, including the very loud protest of the second step from the top when I walk over it. Gen and I always made sure to skip over it whenever we snuck in after curfew, but tonight there’s no need for stealth.
Gen’s lying on her side reading a book when I enter her room. My gaze feasts on her sexy body and the curtain of black hair cascading over one shoulder. She looks up at my entrance.
“Are you wearing khakis?” she demands.