Total pages in book: 107
Estimated words: 98823 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 494(@200wpm)___ 395(@250wpm)___ 329(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 98823 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 494(@200wpm)___ 395(@250wpm)___ 329(@300wpm)
“You’re going to raise my cholesterol just talking about this breakfast,” Duncan said as he came into the kitchen. Unlike when I’d last seen him, he was fully dressed, shirt with buttons even. No weekend casual for him.
Smiling, I held out the mug I’d filled for him. “I made you coffee.”
He returned my smile, the same unrestrained grin he’d had after our sex last night. My heart twisted. There wasn’t much I wouldn’t give to keep him safe and happy.
“Oh, here, Betsy. Let me help.” Duncan set aside his coffee to help Mom load the biscuits into the oven, and forget twisted, my heart expanded so much I worried about my own cardiac event.
I might not survive Duncan. I might not want to. Every time I thought about the previous night, I became more certain that I wasn’t ever getting better sex. It had been…transcendent. No other word for it. More than fucking, more than sex, more than friendship. And Duncan hadn’t run from the potent feelings, had embraced everything, giving himself over to me in a way no one else had.
And now, watching him with my mom only confirmed my opinion that he was in a class by himself. I was blessed to know many awesome people, but Duncan might be the best. And my favorite.
Smiling at Mom, Duncan turned toward her after shutting the oven. “If I ask really nicely, would you give me the waffle recipe?”
“You cook?” I asked, trying to not sound too skeptical. The subject hadn’t come up previously, but somehow I couldn’t picture him in a kitchen, let alone an apron.
He shrugged. “I might start. You and Kate have spoiled me on this tour. My usual instant meals and protein shakes sound so boring now. I may have to take up cooking when I’m back home.”
“You should.” My tone was light, but my back tensed like a rope tightened around my torso. I didn’t like the reminder Duncan would be back to his home soon enough. And was an interest in cooking the only thing he’d carry forward with him? I wanted to believe that this thing between us had changed him as much as it had me.
I sipped my coffee slowly as Duncan carefully transcribed Mom’s directions into his phone, and a different thought took hold. A vision of a hazy future Sunday. Duncan making breakfast at his condo that I had yet to see, only us there. The sort of domesticity I’d never let myself crave, the want too sharp and visceral. Not unlike how I didn’t let myself party. I hadn’t wanted to get dependent on substances. I knew myself and my personality—it would be only too easy to fall into a downward spiral of needing more and more of a false high. And likewise when it came to relationships. I hadn’t wanted to crave something so at odds with the lifestyle I’d cultivated.
But suddenly, I wanted all the little moments with another person, the quiet bond my parents had. The night before, Dad had brought Mom her favorite Dairy Den flavor, and now she was making the biscuits and gravy he loved. They took care of each other, and I wanted that. And with Duncan, specifically, not some vague faceless future person. I wanted sleepy Sunday mornings and late-night TV marathons and cooking together. I wanted it so badly it hurt, and damn Duncan for making me realize how much I yearned for a life with someone else. I wasn’t sure I could go back to normal after he left, wasn’t sure I’d want to.
Dad wandered into the kitchen as the biscuits came out of the oven. We ate the biscuits and gravy and other brunch foods, and I tried not to countdown to when we’d have to leave. Back to the tour. Back to sneaking around and secrecy. Back to the dwindling number of days together. I didn’t want to go.
“You never did play for me,” Mom said as we all worked together to clean up. “You said you had something new to show me?”
I smiled, grateful for the distraction and the chance to show off. I might be fully grown with ten years of touring under my belt, but I still loved showing off for my folks. Some part of me would always be eight and bouncing with delight over the chance to play a new song I’d learned.
“I’ve got some things I’ve been playing around with. A few might make it on the next album.”
“I want to hear.” Her face lit up, exactly like I’d hoped.
“Me too.” Duncan’s voice was warm and the fondness in his eyes made my breath catch. I’d always liked playing for my parents, but now I wanted to play for him too. I loved showering Duncan with the praise he seemed to need on a deep level, but I wasn’t immune to wanting kudos from him myself. I wanted to make him proud as much as my parents.