Total pages in book: 100
Estimated words: 91937 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 460(@200wpm)___ 368(@250wpm)___ 306(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 91937 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 460(@200wpm)___ 368(@250wpm)___ 306(@300wpm)
“Heard that she had to move again,” she shares, taking a bite of her burger. “Even though Winston has been fucking his way through the town, even while married. He’s been giving her a hard time since she finally left him.” I haven’t told her yet she’s my neighbor.
“Stop listening to town gossip.” I walk behind the bar. “Besides, who gives a shit about a fucking Cartwright?” My tone is tight. “They’ve made our lives hell for the past fucking ten years, and if I never see any of them again, it’ll still be too fucking soon.”
“God, someone is grumpy,” she huffs, grabbing a french fry. “How’s the new girlfriend?”
My eyebrows pinch together at her question. “New girlfriend?”
“Dad was saying something about your neighbor baking you a pie.” She smirks, taking a bite of her burger. “A woman only bakes a pie for a man if he’s given her orgasms.”
I shake my head. “I can confirm that fact is untrue.” I point at her, a vision of Harmony on top of me naked—while my hands grip her hips—and her long blond hair moving side to side over my thighs fills my head for a split second before I push it away. “She was just being neighborly.”
“No one is just being neighborly.” She shakes her head. “I’m a woman, trust me. I bake a pie for a man, I want something. I didn’t even bake Charlie a pie,” she jokes, and I look up when I see someone else walk into the bar. “Speak of the devil,” she retorts as Charlie walks in, his face filling with a smile when he sees Autumn.
“Hey, baby,” he greets her, kissing her neck and sitting down beside her, grabbing a french fry. “What’s going on?”
“If someone baked you a pie, what would that mean?”
“It would mean I would have to bail my wife out of jail.” He smirks at her. “She does not like to share.”
“Facts.” She holds up her finger toward him while nodding in agreement with his statement. “But before me.”
“She wants my dick,” he replies without even thinking about it.
“You two are ridiculous.” I shake my head as they both give me the same look. “Okay, well…” I look at both of them. “The last thing I know she wants is my dick, and even if she did, my dick isn’t interested in her.” I swear I can hear said dick laugh at me. “Now if you’ll both excuse me, I’m going to get the fuck out of here.” I look and see it’s almost four o’clock. “Have a good night.” I don’t bother looking back at her when I hear her laughing at my hasty exit, knowing I left because I wasn’t interested in continuing the conversation with her.
I’m walking out of the back of the distillery when my phone chirps with a text. Looking down, I see it’s from Taylor, a woman who I’ve been hooking up with for the last five years. She works in and out of town. We’ve never been exclusive, but over the years, she’s the only one who has stuck around for more than a couple of nights.
Taylor: Hey there, stranger. When can I see you?
Meaning, when can I see your dick? I put the phone in my back pocket, waiting to text her later when I’m home. I pull up into my driveway and see the glass pie plate on my seat. I wonder if I should return it now or just wait for her to be out and leave it at her door. I look over and see the kid standing in the middle of the side lawn, throwing a ball up in the air, and then watching it fall to the ground as he tries to catch it.
I get out of the truck, and I’m about to head into the house when I see him do it again. Then, I hear in frustration, “Oh my God.” My feet are moving while my brain tells me that I should go inside and get back to Taylor.
“Hey,” I say when I get close enough to him, after he’s tossed the ball in the air again and missed it yet again. “You want to play catch?” I don’t even believe the words coming out of my mouth.
The boy just stares up at me, his face mimicking my own thoughts, like, have you lost your damn mind? “You want to play catch with me?” The way he asks the question is like it’s unfathomable to him.
“Yeah,” I reply, totally out of my comfort zone. I should not be playing catch with a kid whose father I hate. I should be inside my house calling Taylor and making plans with her.
“I don’t know how to play catch.” He speaks the words softly as if I’m going to be disappointed.