Total pages in book: 82
Estimated words: 77051 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 385(@200wpm)___ 308(@250wpm)___ 257(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 77051 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 385(@200wpm)___ 308(@250wpm)___ 257(@300wpm)
“Why the hell are you calling me?” Whitt’s game had been in LA today, so I had no doubt he was home and alone.
“Aww, there you go crushing my heart, baby. Maybe I just wanted to hear your voice.”
“Has anyone told you you’re broken?”
A laugh spilled out of my mouth, and I had a feeling he was smiling. “Because I want to talk to you?”
He sighed. “What do you want, Tuck?”
“Go home to Florida with me.” I hadn’t acknowledged the words before I’d spoken them, but deep down, if I let myself look, I knew that’s why I was calling.
“What are you talking about? Go home to Florida with you for what?”
“Christmas. We can tell them we’re just friends. My family won’t say shit. No one else will know you were there.”
“Christ,” he said softly, and I imagined Patrick running a hand through his hair, picking up his whiskey glass, and taking a drink because he didn’t know what else to do.
The thing was, now that I’d said it, I realized how much I wanted it—to introduce him to my family. To show him what it was like to be loved by my mom and sisters. To make sure he wasn’t alone and fuck, just to be with him. This was so messed up.
“What makes you think I’d want to go spend Christmas with you?”
I rolled my eyes. “Do you always have to pretend you don’t feel shit? Even if you don’t want to spend time with me, you can’t want to be alone. I don’t want you alone. While we’re doing this, I told you you’re mine, and I take care of what belongs to me.”
He was quiet for a moment—the only thing I heard was the sound of his usually measured breaths coming out more quickly. “Stop saying shit like that to me, and who said I’ll be alone?”
Jealousy wrapped a gnarly hand around my throat. “Who the hell are you going to be with?”
He laughed, clearly enjoying that he’d made me uncomfortable. “My family will be here next week. Simmer down.”
Oh. Well, that was different. He wouldn’t say so, but I knew he appreciated they were coming to him. “Just know the offer stands. They fuck it up or bail on you and you get your ass to Florida.”
“Yeah. Okay. Whatever.” He pretended not to care, but I heard his unspoken words, heard what Patrick didn’t have in him to say. Thank you.
On Christmas Eve morning, I woke up just before six in the small double-sized bed I had in my room at my mom’s house. Kayla was here because she always stayed at Mom’s house when I was there. Savanna and Zuri seemed to want to live with her forever, so they were there, too. I’d just arrived the night before, so there was no reason I should be awake, but I was.
Rolling over, I plucked my phone off the nightstand and scrolled social media for a minute. It was only three in LA, but I noticed a photo Patrick had posted just a couple of hours before of his legs as he ran on a treadmill. What the fuck was he doing working out in the middle of the night?
He was likely asleep now, but I still shot him off a text to find when he woke up.
Me: Get some damn sleep, Bougie. Also, did you get your multi-colored lights this year? I mean, it’s your house, so don’t forget you can do that.
I frowned when a response almost immediately came through.
Bougie: Nah, I didn’t decorate. What’s the point when I travel for football so much?
Me: Because it’s fun and you like it? And your family is there this year.
Bougie: It’s cute that you think they’d stay at my place. My parents ordered me to spend last night and tonight at this fancy fucking mansion they rented in Brentwood. Staff will come in that will serve us Christmas dinner. My family time isn’t the same as yours, Tuck.
Jesus, I really hated his people. How goddamned hard was it to give someone some colored fucking Christmas lights? Or to stay home and not somewhere they had staff and that looked good for photo ops?
I also might love it when he called me Tuck.
Me: You’re stuck there?
Bougie: Yeah. Until Christmas night.
I imagined him sitting there in a sterile environment, with nothing but clear nights and feeling alone, even when he had people around him. That shit wasn’t going to fly—not on my watch.
Me: I’m sorry.
Bougie: For what?
I rolled my eyes in response, then got online and booked a last-minute, extremely fucking expensive flight.
My family hadn’t understood when I’d told them I’d be gone for the day, but they were my people, so they’d trusted me. We’d had a quick breakfast and decorated the tree because Mom liked to do it with all her kids home, and then I’d left, leaving out the fact I was jumping on a plane.