Total pages in book: 88
Estimated words: 84002 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 420(@200wpm)___ 336(@250wpm)___ 280(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 84002 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 420(@200wpm)___ 336(@250wpm)___ 280(@300wpm)
“I like spending time with you, Shane.”
Goddamn him and his fucking honesty. Shane looked at him. “I like spending time with you too. You’re supposed to be a dickhead.”
Van laughed. “Sorry to disappoint you.”
“You didn’t.” But it should have. “It’s late. I have to work in the morning. I should probably hit the sack.”
“Yeah, I should get back to Mom’s, too. I’m hoping to get some time to talk with her and start working through a few things.”
“How long will you be in town?” Shane asked.
“I don’t know. Probably a couple weeks—maybe less—depending on how things go with her.”
Shane was quiet for a moment, weighing his words and trying to decide if he really wanted to utter them. The thing was, he did. And why the fuck not? It wasn’t often he had anything for himself other than the shop. Why not spend time with Van until he left? Even if he didn’t get any more BJs out of the deal. “If you’re available tomorrow evening, you’re welcome to come over. We can grill some dinner and…I don’t know.”
“I’d like that,” Van replied. “It’s tough…being in that house, ya know?”
Shane nodded. He felt that way sometimes too. “I hear ya.” He stood. “Come on. I’ll write my phone number down for you.”
They went into the kitchen. Shane grabbed a pad of paper from beside the home phone and scribbled his cell number down. Shane ripped the paper off and handed it to Van.
“I’ll text you so you have my number,” Van said.
He walked Van to the front door and opened it where they both stopped. “You never really know what life will throw at you sometimes, do you?” Van asked.
The thing was, most of the time, Shane did. Life didn’t throw him too many surprises. This was a curveball of all hell. “Guess not.”
“Thank you.”
“For letting you blow me?” Shane teased. “Shouldn’t I be the one thanking you?”
“Not if it’s for that. I loved being on my knees for you, but I meant for just letting me be here, despite everything. Not many people would have.”
With that, Van turned and jogged down the stairs. Shane stood and watched him get into his car, stepped out onto the porch as he pulled away, still watching when his taillights disappeared from sight.
*
Van sat in the lobby, waiting for his mother to finish talking to her lawyer, and thinking about Shane. He should probably feel guiltier than he did about the fact that his mom was discussing his dead father’s estate and he was sitting there thinking about sucking dick. But it was more than that too—he was thinking about Shane in general, so that had made him feel a little better.
Van sure as hell hadn’t expected to hook up with him but there also wasn’t a part of him that regretted it. He liked Shane. He was attracted to him. He figured Shane might regret it, though.
He glanced down at his cell and saw that his mother and her lawyer had been in their meeting for half an hour.
Van’s eyes darted up at the sound of a door opening. His mom wore a dress with flowers on it, her arms at her side and her head held high. He could see it in her face, though, the fact that it was an act. That she wanted to fall apart but she wouldn’t give anyone that kind of power over her. Sullivans weren’t weak that way.
She never had been. His father hadn’t been either, and they sure as shit hadn’t wanted Van to be.
“Maxwell, can you join us for a moment?” the lawyer asked, making Van’s stomach twist into knots.
He stood, walked over and held out his hand. “Van. I go by Van now.”
“Nice to meet you, Van. I’m Thomas Chan.” They shook hands before Mr. Chan led them back into his office. Van waited, letting his mother sit first, before taking the seat beside her as Mr. Chan took his seat behind the desk.
“We have some things to go over. Your father left you a sizable amount of money. I’m going to need some signatures and—”
“I don’t want it.” Van’s lips were so tight it was hard to speak. He looked at his mom. “I told you I didn’t want it.”
“Don’t be silly.” His mom shook her head.
“I’m not being silly. I don’t want the money.”
“There are options if you—”
“No,” his mom cut Mr. Chan off. “It’s Max’s money. His father wanted him to have it. Just…give us some time.”
Why didn’t she get it? And why in the hell was she so insistent on that? “Time isn’t going to change anything, Mom. I won’t take that money. It’s yours. You should have it.”
“Why do you have to be so difficult? You’re Maxwell Sullivan, Jr. This is your father. He wanted you to have this money. It’s yours.”