Total pages in book: 77
Estimated words: 74730 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 374(@200wpm)___ 299(@250wpm)___ 249(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 74730 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 374(@200wpm)___ 299(@250wpm)___ 249(@300wpm)
“I’m sure Fiona could show you a few things if you asked.”
Staring at the charred dish on the counter, she bunches her lips at the side. “I don’t know if that dish was expensive or not, but I’m pretty sure it’s ruined. Turns out burned chicken is impossible to get off after it hardens. God, I’m so sorry.”
“Stop apologizing. It’s the thought that counts anyway.” Leading her by the hand, I take her upstairs.
“Where are we going?” she asks, traipsing behind me.
“I’m starving,” I tell her as we make our way to the bedroom. “And since you burned dinner, I have no choice but to make a meal out of you.”
Sweeping her into my arms, I gently toss her on the bed, tear off her leggings, and bury my head between her thighs where I proceed to devour her until she’s gasping, quivering, and begging me to stop.
Chicken is overrated anyway.
Campbell
The soft glow from the television illuminates the family room as the dramatic antics of the Below Deck crew unfolds on screen. Leaning back into the plush sofa, I snap off another piece of strawberry Twizzler while Oliver makes some comment about the technicalities of some engine.
“Is there anything else you like besides boats?” I ask him. “I don’t think I’ve ever heard you talk about anything else.”
Slade chuckles. “Women. He likes women. The more unhinged, the better.”
“Courtney was an angel. There’ll never be another Courtney,” Oliver chuffs. “And Lena. Oh my god, Lena. I’ll never understood why she went back to that cheating bastard boyfriend of hers.”
“Maybe deep down she knew you were too good for her,” I tell him.
“Yeah, that’s what it was,” Slade teases. “Had nothing to do with the fact that he got hammered off his ass and proposed a threesome with her best friend.”
“I’m sure there’s a nice girl out there waiting to meet a nice guy like you,” I say. Oliver is definitely more of a free spirit, but there’s always been something lonely about him, almost as if he’s hiding his emptiness behind his larger-than-life persona.
“Don’t give him false hope. All the good ones are taken,” Slade razzes him some more. This is what they do, and I’ve quickly learned it’s their love language. They give each other crap because they care. “And I got the last one.”
Slade squeezes my knee and gives me a wink.
It’s only been a week since we turned this new corner, but each day has only gotten better. At some point, I fear there’ll be nowhere to go but down. But I’m trying to enjoy the unfolding of this strange new normal instead of wasting precious time worrying about a hypothetical scenario.
Oliver’s phone chimes and he checks it. “Sweet.”
“What?” Slade asks.
“My Schaeffer Flybridge is ready for the weekend,” he says.
“Your what-what?” I ask.
“It’s a fifty-eight-foot yacht I just added to my fleet. Some guy in Jupiter bought it last year and never took it out. The thing’s never even been out of the marina,” he says.
“Isn’t fifty-eight feet kind of small for a yacht?” I ask, though I’m only giving him crap because of all the numbers he rattles off every time we watch this show together.
“The thing about my industry is, I have to have something for everyone. Not everyone can afford to rent a two hundred footer,” he explains. “I’ve got to cater to all kinds of clientele.”
“I bet for what you paid for that Flybridge, you could have bought yourself a Bugatti,” Slade says.
“But then I wouldn’t be able to borrow yours,” Oliver quips back before lunging for the remote and hitting the pause button. “You know …”
Slade and I exchange looks and rolled eyes. We know exactly where he’s going with this.
“I know what you guys are going to say, but just hear me out,” Oliver continues, “Slade, you let me borrow your cars all the time and you never ask for anything from me. And Campbell, I know you’re not a boat person, but what if you, me, and Slade took the Flybridge out on her maiden voyage? It could be, sort of, like a wedding gift from me to you guys. It’s a smaller yacht, so we won’t need a full crew. In fact, I could man it myself. And I’ll stay out of sight. You won’t even know I’m there.”
“I don’t know.” I wince. “I’d rather not.”
“You guys haven’t even gone on a honeymoon,” Oliver says. “Or anywhere for that matter. You’ve been holed up here ever since you got back from the wedding last week. Why don’t you come out on the boat this weekend, two days of rest and relaxation. No distractions from the rest of the world. You can lay out and drink and soak up the sun and pretend you’re in the South of France or something—my treat.”