Total pages in book: 93
Estimated words: 90019 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 450(@200wpm)___ 360(@250wpm)___ 300(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 90019 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 450(@200wpm)___ 360(@250wpm)___ 300(@300wpm)
I glanced around my living room as I sipped my coffee. The walls were painted a light gray—I’d finished those the weekend before my surgery. The fireplace was one of the few things that hadn’t needed to be redone but I’d painted the mantel white. There wasn’t anything on the scuffed floor but a drop cloth and the paint I’d used on the mantel. I’d gotten enough to paint the trim around the windows and the baseboards.
I tilted my head as I looked at my brand-new windows. They’d cost a shit ton because the old windows had been a weird size, but I was happy with how the new ones had turned out. Now they just needed some nice white trim.
I looked back at the floor where my can of paint was stashed.
I could totally sit on a chair and paint the trim. I wouldn’t be exerting myself. If anything, it would be relaxing.
With my decision made, I walked into the kitchen and grabbed a little paint stick thing and a small brush from the tiny pantry. I’d paint for a while and then take another nap.
* * *
“What the fuck are you doing?” Bram’s voice boomed behind me, startling me into almost falling out of my chair.
I fumbled with the paintbrush in my hand, but eventually got it under control and turned to look at Bram as I dropped it on the stack of newspaper at my feet. Oh shit, I was sore. I couldn’t remember the last time I’d had a pain pill.
“What time is it?” I asked, ignoring his question as I set the lid back on the paint can and started to seal it with a hammer.
“Gimme that,” Bram muttered, taking the hammer from my hand and closing the paint with three hard whacks. “It’s almost three.”
No wonder I felt like shit—I hadn’t had a pain pill all day…or lunch, for that matter. Once I’d started painting, I’d fallen into a little bit of a trance. I liked working on the house. It relaxed me to know that I was building something that was unique. Something that was mine.
“Looks good, huh?” I said proudly, looking back at the lower half of my windows. I hadn’t painted the top halves because I’d known I should probably stay off my feet. Not that it mattered. I still felt like complete shit now that I’d stopped.
“You painted half the windows,” Bram answered flatly, crossing his arms over his chest.
“Why aren’t you a detective? Because that was seriously observant.” I climbed to my feet and tried to hide my wince. Yeah, I needed a pain pill.
“Why the fuck did you paint half the windows? Aren’t you supposed to be taking it easy?” Bram asked, stepping forward like he was going to help me.
“I was bored.” Shuffling around him, I took a deep breath. Pills first, then food.
“You were bored,” Bram growled as he followed me into my room.
“Yeah, I was bored.” I opened up my pills and forced myself to take only one. Two would be better, but I didn’t want to fall asleep and I knew they’d completely knock me out.
“How’d that work out for you?” Bram asked, leaning against my doorway.
“Great,” I replied stubbornly, lifting my chin. “I got half the windows done.”
“They look like shit.”
“No they don’t. They look halfway finished.” I pushed past him and made my way back to the kitchen, eyeballing the donuts still sitting on my table. I wondered if I could get away with eating another one. Oh, fuck it. It’s not like I ever gained weight anyway. Even when I was trying to put on a few pounds, I couldn’t. I didn’t bitch about it—I knew people would kill to be able to eat whatever they wanted and not gain an ounce—but it wasn’t like it didn’t irritate me. Maybe I wanted boobs. Maybe I wanted a little junk in my trunk. Maybe I didn’t want old ladies to make comments at the grocery store about me starving myself.
“Thanks for the donuts,” I called, stuffing a glazed one in my mouth.
“You’re welcome,” Bram replied, coming to a stop at the entry of the kitchen.
I wanted to ask him why he was there. I didn’t understand his sudden need to visit my house and feed me. Was it nice? Sure. But we’d had sex one time. It wasn’t like we were together. Our relationship was the same as it had always been.
I grew irritated as he stood there silently watching me eat. I hated not knowing what to say or where to look. We were in my fucking kitchen. My comfort zone. My sanctuary.
When the silence finally became too much, I wiped my hands on my pajama pants and took a step forward.
“Look, I’m pretty tired, so—”
“Sure,” Bram cut in quickly, nodding his head as he scratched at his beard. That’s when I noticed that he was as uncomfortable as I was. He was fidgety. Awkward.