Total pages in book: 82
Estimated words: 76063 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 380(@200wpm)___ 304(@250wpm)___ 254(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 76063 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 380(@200wpm)___ 304(@250wpm)___ 254(@300wpm)
"She does. It suits her," I added. "And you."
"Is that what you're wearing?" Jelly asked, grimacing at my jeans and tee. For the entirety of her life—save for special occasions—this was always what I wore.
"What's wrong with it?"
"You could try a little," she suggested, shrugging. "That's all I'm saying. A nice button-up shirt would be good."
Eva had no delusions about how I looked or dressed, but Jelly was trying; it wouldn't hurt for me to do so as well.
"Alright, I will go change."
"And make sure it's not wrinkled, Dad," she insisted, giving me a nod.
"When did you get so bossy?" I asked. "What?" I said when her eyes slit small at me.
"No one calls boys bossy. You shouldn't call girls bossy either," she insisted, chin lifting, even if her voice wavered a bit, authoritativeness being new to her.
"You're right," I agreed, nodding. "You're not bossy. You are smart and opinionated and have great leadership skills. But sometimes, even smart and opinionated leaders boss people around. Men and women alike. And it's never a good look."
"Okay, fine. But she will judge you if your shirt is wrinkled," Jelena insisted, shaking her head.
"As she should. Is the iron in your room?" I asked. There was no way her dress had stayed as pressed as it looked right then in her closet. There were even creases in the seams.
"Yeah."
"Alright. Be ready in five."
"I'm already ready. You're the one holding us up this time," she told me, smirking.
"Smartass," I shot back as I jogged up the stairs.
I'd worried we'd gone overboard with our outfits, but when Jacob answered the door, he had put on jeans and a black button-up as well. I swear he stood straighter wearing it.
"Jelena, this is Jacob. Jacob, Jelly. I don't think you guys have ever officially met."
"Nope," Jacob agreed. "But I've heard your music through the wall."
"And?" Jelly asked, voice tentative.
"You have a couple good songs in there."
"A couple!" Jelly objected, following him in, demanding to know what song he objected to. Jacob had a list at the ready.
"Should we be worried?" Eva asked, handing me a cup of coffee as she leaned in the doorway from the kitchen, watching the kids discuss music a bit heatedly.
"Sometimes, Jelly can be a little... shit, I need a new word. She informed me this morning that I can't call her bossy anymore."
"You called her bossy?" Eva asked, nose wrinkling up. "Ew."
"Yeah, that seemed to be her reaction to it too," I said, smiling.
"Gotta find other words. She might be too young for my favorite. I mean, I have no personal objections to calling a kid her age a badass bitch, but you might not be too keen on it. Oh, yay, orange juice. I was looking like a crappy host since all I have to drink is water and powdered iced tea. You look nice, by the way," she added, giving me an appreciative smile as she turned back into the kitchen.
"You look beautiful," I told her truthfully. Just like Jacob and Jelly and, after my daughter insisted upon it, me, Eva had dressed up a bit for the occasion. She had on a flowing floor-length white skirt with pink and yellow flowers on it, pairing it with a simple white tee that she had knotted just above her navel.
Aside from naked, it was the softest look I'd ever seen on her.
"Thanks. But don't get used to it. I own about three dressy outfits. The rest make me look like an overworked college student. All sweats and graphic tees. I never did adopt a grown-up wardrobe."
"I like how you dress. It matches how I dress," I admitted, shrugging. "Can I help?"
"Nope," she said, shaking her head, waving a knife toward the kitchen table, a silent invitation for me to sit.
I sat there, watching her as she moved effortlessly around the kitchen, realizing I hadn't had a woman cook for me in, well, ever. If family didn't count. And it didn't. And while I was perfectly capable of cooking for myself—and my kid—there was something endearing about someone else wanting to take care of me in even a very small way.
We talked about all the things we needed to catch up on since having to drop our lives for a few days, about the club, about my siblings, before we were interrupted by Gus as she sauntered into the room.
"I love your mom," she declared, helping herself to the coffee. "She told me I made her look like a two-dollar hooker. I take that as a compliment," she said, beaming. "If you are ever looking for someone to help out around here, I will probably be looking for a new gig soon. What?" she said, rolling her eyes at me.
"Nothing. Didn't you just start that job a few months ago?"
"Yeah, well, they told me that if I kept bringing the ladies in "smut" that they were going to have to fire me."