Total pages in book: 56
Estimated words: 54148 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 271(@200wpm)___ 217(@250wpm)___ 180(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 54148 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 271(@200wpm)___ 217(@250wpm)___ 180(@300wpm)
We start by pulling out dead flowers, dry vegetable stalks and brown grasses. With Austin’s help, it takes almost no time to clear away the plant litter. And even though neither of us is particularly chatty throughout the process, it’s a good, productive silence.
With the dead stuff out of the way, it’s much easier to see where the herbs and other perennials are hiding. I grab my shiny new trowel and begin digging out the plants I want to keep, roots and all, setting them aside until I know where I want to put them.
“You can use the shovel to dig up all the weeds in this corner,” I tell Austin.
“Sounds good.” He brushes the plant dust from his gloves. I catch him staring at me a few seconds later with that same strained look on his face.
“What is it?” I ask. “Do I have dirt on my cheek?”
"Little bit." His mouth twitches. "It looks good on you, though."
I drag my forearm across my cheek. Another long pause stretches between us.
“Kenz,” Austin says. “About last night...”
I tense.
“What about last night?”
My throat closes. I knew it. He regrets having sex with me, but he’s trying to let me down easy, so he won’t hurt my feelings.
"You said something,” Austin says, “before you fell asleep.”
“What did I say?”
He wipes the sweat from his forehead. “You said, ‘It feels better when you want it.’ What’d you mean by that?”
I don’t recall saying those exact words, but they ring true enough. “I guess I meant that it felt better with you than it has in the past with other guys.”
“When you didn’t want it.” His tone is even, but the tension in his jaw betrays a stronger reaction.
“I mean, you've slept around. Haven’t you ever gone home with a girl because you just didn’t want to be alone?”
He massages his bicep and sighs.
“Those weren’t my proudest moments... But yeah.”
“Well, it’s like that. Only, instead of companionship, I wanted a bed—and a couch for Hollywood. That was before we moved into the motel, and I started camming. It’s funny, camming was actually more work in a lot of ways. Most of the guys I went home with were fine just letting me lay there as long as they got to do what they wanted.”
“And how often was that?”
My palms feel clammy inside my gloves.
“Why does that matter?” I never took Austin for the type to give me shit about the number of people I’ve slept with. Then again, maybe I misjudged him. It’s not like we ever talked about sex before we started having it. He probably expected me to be more like Holly.
“As often as we needed to sleep,” I say.
He nods, picks up the shovel, and stabs at the dirt.
I flinch each time the shovel makes contact with the ground. He’s angry, and I’m not sure why. I try to go back to digging out herbs, but my hands are too shaky.
Don’t cry, I tell myself. I have enough to feel guilty about; doing what was necessary to keep a roof over our heads isn’t one of them. Still, I’d be lying if I claimed Austin’s cold judgment didn’t sting like hell.
“I’m going to take a shower.” I pull off my gloves and start gathering up the handheld tools, but the sweat on my palms makes it hard grip the handles. They slip from my hands on my way to the shed, striking the ground in a clatter of metal.
Don’t cry. Don’t cry. Don’t cry...
But there’s no stopping it. I step over the scattered tools on the grass and jog into the house.
“Kenzie,” he calls after me.
I don’t stop.
Upstairs, in Austin’s shower, I stand under the rain head and allow my tears to mix with the dirt and mud at my feet. But the past won’t wash away, no matter how long I stand here. I can’t go back and change the decisions I made, and honestly, I wouldn’t change most of them.
When Austin said he wanted me, I assumed he meant all of me. Not just the parts that were palatable.
A knock on the open door a few minutes later makes me bristle. Austin enters the bathroom, his pants already off. I watch through the glass partition as he slips off his boxers and socks.
Grasping my opposite elbows, I turn to face the tile wall as he steps inside the walk-in shower. My spine feels as rigid as a dried-out sunflower stalk, inflexible and easily snapped in half.
“I’m sorry you had to find out your sweet little girl isn’t so sweet after all,” I tell him. A silent sob wracks my frame as his arms fold around me from behind.
“I don’t give a damn about how many guys you’ve been with, Kenzie. And I don’t blame you for doing what you had to do to get by.”