Total pages in book: 70
Estimated words: 70061 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 350(@200wpm)___ 280(@250wpm)___ 234(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 70061 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 350(@200wpm)___ 280(@250wpm)___ 234(@300wpm)
“These are so good,” she says after taking a big bite. “Who knew sex could make a girl so hungry?”
“I’d better stock up on pancake mix.”
She winks at me, her mouth full.
“I plan to keep you starving.”
“Right on.”
When mine are finished, I turn off the skillet and join her at the table to eat with her. It’s a simple thing, having an after sex snack with her, but it’s intimate. It makes me feel closer to her.
I glance up in time to see her eyes are heavy.
“I think we’ve finally worn you out.”
She smiles softly. “Yeah. I’m tired.”
“What’s wrong?” I ask when she frowns.
“I have a bit of a headache. I hope I’m not developing migraines.”
I just shake my head and take my last bite. “You drank too much, that’s all.”
“Hmm.”
We put our dishes in the sink and I lead her to my bed, anxious to feel her skin on skin again.
“Why do you always think that something’s wrong?” I ask softly.
She thinks about it for a moment, her eyes closed.
“Because I know too much. About medicine. That’s what Drake says, anyway.”
“What do you think?”
“I think that it’s part of the anxiety. I worry.” She yawns. “I don’t think I’ve ever talked about this with anyone except Drake, and even he only knows a little of it.”
“I want to know everything about you,” I reply honestly. “Not to judge you, but to learn you.”
“I know. I feel the same.” She turns on her side and looks up at me. “Why does it always feel safer to talk about things in the dark?”
“Because we feel hidden here. Safe.”
“I guess so.” She scoots closer to me and threads her leg through mine. “I’ve always been a worrier. I don’t remember a time when I wasn’t. It’s probably a chemical imbalance. The anxiety, I mean. And there are meds I can take, but it’s been there for so long, I’m pretty good at managing it.”
“Hiding it,” I correct her.
“Tomato, tomahto,” she says with a smile. “Either way, I don’t feel like I need medicine. But there are going to be times that I’ll think I’m sick. Or that I have a disease. I’ll always wonder. I’ve asked colleagues to do full body scans before, just to give me peace of mind, but they usually laugh me off.”
“Sweetheart,” I murmur and kiss her forehead. “You’re a strong, healthy woman.”
“I know. The rational side of me knows that. I have no reason to believe otherwise. It’s like the bear thing, or the lake thing the other day. I know better, but I can’t change the thoughts.”
“I see.”
“No, you don’t. And that’s okay. I’d rather you didn’t understand. But I appreciate you asking and not judging.”
“Can you tell me more about your parents?”
She frowns, but then shrugs. “Sure. What do you want to know?”
“You just didn’t say too much, other than your father killed your mother in an accident, and you haven’t seen him since.”
“That’s pretty much it.”
“But that doesn’t give me much information.”
“You could run his record,” she replies.
Oh, I have.
“That’s not personal either,” I remind her.
She sighs. “I honestly don’t think of him. Ever. I know that sounds heartless, but he wasn’t a great father, or even a nice person. At least, not that I remember. I remember him being drunk most of the time. He didn’t work because he couldn’t hold a job. Mom stressed out about money and me and everything else, and he just drank.
“I spent a lot of time with Abby and her parents, or at my friends’ homes. I preferred it, actually. He never hurt me. He didn’t hit me, or yell at me. He ignored me.”
“Sometimes that’s just as bad,” I reply, wanting to wrap her in my arms and protect her.
“I agree. I didn’t really consider him at all, until the accident. I didn’t think of him as dangerous. He was more of a pain in the ass.
“My mom was pretty great. She was soft spoken. I have her hair and eyes, and I’m grateful for that. I don’t know what it would be like to look in the mirror and see him.”
“I’m sure she was beautiful.”
“She was.” She smiles sweetly. “And she made the best cookies. She was a great cook. I didn’t inherit that ability.”
“Too bad.”
She wrinkles her nose in that adorable way she does. “Yeah, too bad. Her name was Vivienne, and she wasn’t even forty when she died.”
“Did she often ride with your dad after he’d been drinking?”
“Not that I know of. They didn’t do much of anything together. I wasn’t home that day. I decided to spend most of the winter break with Abby, and we were having a New Year’s Eve party at her house with some of our friends. Mom had called earlier in the day to say hello and to check in, like she usually did. That’s the last time I spoke to her. I was impatient to get off the phone so I could help decorate for the party.