Total pages in book: 91
Estimated words: 85876 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 429(@200wpm)___ 344(@250wpm)___ 286(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 85876 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 429(@200wpm)___ 344(@250wpm)___ 286(@300wpm)
“I guess you’re right.”
“I know I am, and I can see you’re happy, M. Really freaking happy. So let Bowie bask in the glory of knowing he might have hurt you, but in the end, you are still winning. Screw him and his too-late regrets.”
“Do you know how much I love you?”
“As much as I love you.” She gets up when her client walks in and waves before stopping at the receptionist. “So, what are you doing tonight?”
“I don’t know. He’s working and isn’t sure what time he will be off, but he sent me a text this afternoon and told me that he would call as soon as he’s free.”
“We’ll have to do a double date one night.”
“That would be fun. I’ll talk to Tucker,” I say as I start to walk across the salon when the timer I set goes off.
It takes me another hour to finish with my client, and as soon as she leaves, a walk-in comes in for a trim and blow-out, and with Kingston not home, I take it. And I’m happy I do when she leaves me a fifty-dollar tip. Every extra dollar is a win right now, because life is expensive, and even if Bowie is giving me child support, the amount is a joke compared to the actual cost of taking care of a growing boy.
I leave the salon at a little after five, and since I haven’t heard from Tucker, I send him a message letting him know I’m off and heading home. By the time I reach my complex, there is a message from him waiting for me.
It’s going to be another hour for me. How do you feel about coming to my place and me cooking us dinner?
That sounds good.
I jump at the idea. First, because I’ve never had a man cook for me before, unless you count macaroni and cheese or scrambled eggs, which might be exactly what he plans on cooking. And second, I’m curious about where he lives. You can tell a lot about a person by their home, and I want to find out anything I can about him, and maybe being in his space will give that to me.
When I reach the alcove to my apartment, Carrie is sitting on the step that leads to the apartments above us. When she sees me, she ducks her head, but she’s not fast enough for me to miss the fact that she’s upset.
“Hey.” I approach her slowly, and she wipes her cheeks as she looks up at me. “Is everything okay?”
A couple of days ago, I met her dad, an older man with a bulky frame and exhaustion etched into his features. He was very kind when introducing himself and told me that he works nights, normally leaving around six and sleeping during the day when he’s home, so I probably wouldn’t see him much. He also told me Carrie is home alone a lot, because her mom isn’t really in her life. I had assumed as much because I have never seen a woman around, but the confirmation made me sad for Carrie, especially at her age. Not that dads aren’t great, but when you’re a teenage girl, you need that attention, love, and advice only a mom or a woman can give.
“Yes.” She drops her eyes from mine, and I take my bag off my shoulder and take a seat on the steps next to her.
“Did you get locked out again?”
“No.” She fiddles with her hands in her lap, and I want to reach for her, give her a hug, and tell her things will be okay. But I don’t think she would accept that from me. I also don’t think it’s my place.
“Did you have school today?” I ask after a couple of minutes.
“Yes.”
I nod, then ask, “What grade are you in?”
“Eleventh.”
“You graduate next year.” I smile.
“I … I actually graduate this year.”
This information shocks me. And I feel guilty for judging her by her appearance, like I’m sure a lot of people do.
“You must be really smart,” I say softly, and she shrugs. “What are you going to do when you graduate?”
“Find a job, I guess.”
“What about college, or is there something else you love doing?”
“My dad can’t afford to pay for me to go to college.”
“There are scholarships and lots of other ways to pay for school, especially with your grades, if you’re already able to graduate. Have you talked to the counselor at school?”
“No.” She shakes her head.
“Okay, so what is your favorite subject, and if money weren’t an issue, what would you want to be?”
“A computer scientist.”
“I have no idea what that is,” I say, and she giggles, the sound seeming so young and innocent, the complete opposite of her appearance.
“You like … make apps and games and stuff.”