Total pages in book: 81
Estimated words: 76586 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 383(@200wpm)___ 306(@250wpm)___ 255(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 76586 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 383(@200wpm)___ 306(@250wpm)___ 255(@300wpm)
When I was done talking to Felicity, Jenna took her to get her bath and I called Shane. My terms were straightforward and with strict boundaries. He could come tonight to see her, but I would be there. I told him about my transparency with her, and he actually felt that was for the best.
Shane was incredibly grateful for the opportunity and we made plans for him to come by at dinner time, giving us something to do to help alleviate the awkwardness.
Opening my eyes, I take in a fortifying breath and I open the door.
Shane stands there looking like he did the other night. Healthy, bright eyes, and good color to his skin.
Smiling and hopeful.
My breath shoots out like a rocket, because the larger part of me thought he’d show up high. Which is why I made Jenna keep Felicity in her bedroom until I could assess the situation.
I motion for him to come in and his head ducks a moment, dropping his gaze. He’s feeling awkward I can tell, but the feeling is mutual.
“Hey,” I say in greeting and then explain, “Felicity’s in her room with Jenna.”
Shane lifts his eyes and gives a nervous chuckle. “I guess I didn’t expect her to be waiting at the door ready to fling herself in my arms in excitement. It’s been two years.”
He’s right about all that… Felicity is a little reserved. But I decide to be blunt with him. “I had her wait in her room because I wasn’t sure what state you’d show up in.”
Shane winces and says, “Ouch.”
I don’t reply, just staring at him. Finally, he nods and admits, “I can understand why you don’t trust me.”
“I don’t trust you,” I affirm and he flinches. “But for Felicity’s sake, I will be rooting for you to continue your sobriety all the way. I really hope it sticks this time, Shane.”
“It will,” he says with surety.
I’ve heard that before, so I don’t even acknowledge the promise. I merely nod my head toward the kitchen. “Pizza is on the table. Help yourself and I’ll get Felicity.”
♦
I push the doorbell to Jett’s condo. Six weeks ago, I wanted nothing to do with him. A few scant weeks ago, we were having what was supposed to be meaningless sex.
Tonight?
Well, tonight I can’t wait to be able to sit down with him for a few moments and tell him all about how my evening has gone so far.
All the highs and lows.
The nerves fraying as Shane and Felicity got to know one another again.
The happiness rippling off her as I tucked her into bed after he left, excited at the new opportunities to have her dad back in her life.
My dread that this was only temporary, and Shane would crush her again.
The door opens and there he stands, always the most handsome and sexy man I’ve ever known, but more than that… the person I want to unload on.
He seemingly knows this as his arms open up and I walk right into them.
Yeah… it used to be meaningless, but this right here has more meaning than anything I’ve had in a very long time.
“Want to tell me all about it or would you rather me just fuck your brains out to forget it for a bit? Then you can tell me about it.”
My head jerks back and I look up at him. I had thought a cuddle on the couch is what I needed, but the fucking my brains out has merit.
Apparently, my hesitancy in responding has him making the decision for me. He releases his hold on me, turns me toward the couch, and slaps me playfully on the butt. “Go sit down. I’ll get you a glass of wine.”
I blink in surprise, moving toward the sofa. “You have wine?”
“I do,” he calls from the kitchen where I hear him pulling glasses out of the cabinet. “I figure if I’m dating someone, and she might be staying here on occasion, I need to stock the things she likes.”
“I was happy with you just having tea for me in the mornings,” I say as I plop down on the couch and then turn to watch him across the island that separates the kitchen from the living room in this open floor plan.
“I’ve got tea, wine, scones—”
“I don’t like scones,” I point out.
“You’re British,” he mocks teasingly as he pours me a glass of wine. “How can you not like scones?”
“Too dry for me,” I explain. “It’s like your American biscuits. Too dry as well. Give me a fluffy croissant and I’m happy.”
This light chatter has me more relaxed than if I’d had a glass of wine, but I still gratefully accept it when Jett comes back to the couch. I note he doesn’t have his own glass but then again, he doesn’t like wine. But he doesn’t have a beer in hand either.