Total pages in book: 59
Estimated words: 73824 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 369(@200wpm)___ 295(@250wpm)___ 246(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 73824 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 369(@200wpm)___ 295(@250wpm)___ 246(@300wpm)
Paxton had a problem.
He couldn’t keep still without fiddling with something. Whether it be doodling on a piece of paper, flipping a pen around his fingers, or chewing his fingernails.
He always had to have his hands busy.
Which was why he’d found the bill for my new meds, and winced.
“Oooouch,” he shuddered. “This the new stuff?”
I nodded. “Yep.”
While I was in the fridge, I went ahead and got my meds that I took before bedtime.
“My numbers are perfect, though. Although they got a little out of whack last night because I didn’t take them,” I told him, removing the vial and walking over to the counter.
I’d had to have my dad bring me my meds at lunch today, and he’d done so with only a tiny bit of annoyance.
It helped that I’d been sopping wet thanks to that whore, Joslin.
He’d only handed the stuff over and left, not wanting to deal with my mood.
Paxton watched as I drew up my insulin, then injected it into my stomach.
It was like breathing to me, now.
It was something that I had to do, and I did no matter what.
It was a part of me, and I’d never have a day in my life that I didn’t have to inject myself with insulin.
I was type one diabetic, and had been doing it since I was two years of age.
“Why didn’t you tell me? I would’ve brought it to you,” he said, chastising me gently.
I shrugged. “I’d taken it right before I went over there, and I knew I’d be able to take my morning meds once I got my dad to bring them to me. It wasn’t a big deal.”
Except dad had been late, and I hadn’t noticed.
“You’ll have to tell him if you plan to spend any amount of time with him,” he surmised, knowing exactly why I hadn’t taken my meds last night.
I wrinkled my nose up at him.
“That’s…”
He interrupted me before I could voice my lie.
“It’s not a disease that you’re dying from. It’s diabetes. And not even one that was caused by your diet or lack of exercise. It’s genetic. Something that you were born with,” Paxton said in exasperation.
I stuck my tongue out at him.
“He’ll know eventually if I deem it necessary,” I hedged.
Paxton sighed.
“He’s going to think you have a drug problem if you wait too long. If you spend more than three or four hours with him during the day, he’ll see you having to go to the bathroom. And insulin has to be refrigerated. You can’t just keep it all in your cooler and expect him not to notice it,” Paxton laughed.
I flipped him off and went back to my sandwich.
In fact, that’d been exactly what I’d had planned this morning, but in my haste to get over to Bennett’s, I’d completely forgotten my meds.
It really wasn’t that big of a secret, either. It was just something that I’d found, over time, that men weren’t very comfortable with.
They didn’t like that I was restricted to what I was allowed to eat. They also didn’t like that they couldn’t take me out to eat without me having to order something specially made that would allow me the carbohydrates I needed to keep my blood sugar from elevating or plummeting.
It was all a delicate process, one I’d learned to get used to over time.
And one that most men saw as a severe weakness, and over time, one that they didn’t really feel like handling since they didn’t have to.
I was that ‘defective girl.’
At least, that’s what my boyfriend who I’d been stood up for prom had said by way of explanation as to why he was standing me up.
“He’s not Reggie. Bennett’s Bennett,” Paxton said softly.
I glared at him as I tossed the sandwich I’d made down in front of him.
Then picked up my own and bit into it viciously.
“I know that!” I said around a mouthful of food.
He grinned. “Do you?”
I nodded.
“Then act like it.”
Chapter 12
Dogs. Because sometimes talking to a man about your problem is too much effort when you have to tell them why they’re stupid in the middle of said explanation.
-Fact of life
Bennett
“Daddy, are we going to see Lennox today?” Reagan asked as I walked her across the crosswalk with my sister in the lead, and me behind her.
“I don’t know, baby. I hope so,” I said softly, circling my hand around her long ponytail and letting the length work through my fingers.
She smiled up at me. “I like her.”
I smiled back at her, heart warmed by my girl. “I know you do, baby girl. We’ll definitely see her tomorrow, though. She promised.”
Reagan grinned and squeaked when Gabe and Ember’s, another couple that lived at the Free compound, son, Luca, kicked a rock at the back of Reagan’s feet.
She whirled around and threw an accusing insult his way. “Stop it, you lecher.”
I snorted. “Lecher?”
She nodded solemnly. “Yeah, Aunt Payton used it this morning with Uncle Max when Uncle Max wouldn’t stop putting his hands…”
I slapped my hand over Reagan’s mouth. “Baby, this is one of those times when you don’t repeat what you saw, okay?”
Reagan grinned. “Yes, daddy.”
It’d been three long days since I’d seen Lennox, and a day and a half since I’d spoken with her on the phone.
She’d, of course, texted me back when I texted her, but it was as if she were taking a step back after that night I’d gone with her to dinner at her parent’s house.
Something I allowed her to do because I knew she needed it.
“I really want her to come to one of my softball games,” Reagan said excitedly. “I think she’ll bring me good luck.”
I rolled my eyes.
People coming to her games brought her ‘good luck.’
Too bad Lennox wasn’t here to listen.
“Let’s go, slow pokes!” Payton yelled loudly from the front of the line.
I smiled down at Reagan, kissed her cheek, and then tugged her ponytail. “Be good, baby girl. And make sure you’re ready to go at five, as soon as I get there, okay?”