Total pages in book: 74
Estimated words: 74022 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 370(@200wpm)___ 296(@250wpm)___ 247(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 74022 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 370(@200wpm)___ 296(@250wpm)___ 247(@300wpm)
“Thanks. Sit down.”
She sits down and I place a plate in front of her then place mine down and sit, too. For a minute or two, we eat in silence, then a soft, fucking sweet ass moan leaves her mouth and she looks up at me. “Wow,” she murmurs. “Seriously, wow. This is amazing. What did you put on those vegetables?”
“Butter,” I shrug. “Salt, pepper ... nothin’ fancy.”
“Wow, I never thought to do that. I always just steam them and eat them. These are amazing. And the steak is so tender.”
I watch her eat, loving the way her mouth moves and her eyes fill with enthusiastic pleasure as she chews each bite. Knowing it makes her happy makes me feel fucking good inside.
“Listen,” I say to her, placing my fork down. “I’m sorry for assumin’ before. You’re right, and you didn’t deserve me to judge before I even thought about it. Know you got nothin’ against Penny, and I know that what is happenin’ isn’t on you, it’s on me.”
She stares at me and, for a moment, her eyes are still protected by that barrier she has up around her heart, but after a few minutes, they soften, and I see a side to her I didn’t know existed. Slightly sensitive, gentle, womanly. And it’s fucking beautiful. “It hurts, Boston. It hurts because I really like you, and I’m trying so hard not to. It hurts because when we’re here, sitting together, it feels normal. So normal. Like we’ve known each other forever. Like it’s the most natural thing under the sun. But mostly it hurts because I’m not enough, and that sucks the most.”
Fuck.
Fucking dammit.
“You’re enough, Chantelle. Fuck me, you’re enough. You’re so much good, so much fuckin’ perfect, so much strength. You’re enough.”
“Just not for you...”
I stare at her, and fucked if I don’t want to grab her out of that chair, lift her so her legs wrap around me, and kiss her until it fucking burns. I want her so bad it aches. From my chest right to my fucking dick. But I can’t do that, because that’s cruel and fucking unfair and I’ve done enough.
“I can’t give you the answers you want right now,” I tell her honestly, because I can’t. “But it has nothin’ to do with you not bein’ enough. Fuckin’ not even close. It has to do with me bein’ conflicted. But don’t ever, for a single second, doubt that you’re one in a million.”
She doesn’t look convinced, but she doesn’t say anything more about it, either.
“So, after all of that,” she says, her voice back to being strong, and sassy. Just like I know her to be. “Is Penny doing okay?”
And still, after it all, she honestly wants to know if Penny is okay.
Admire the fuck out of her for that.
“Yeah, she’s okay. Stayin’ at my house and workin’ with Cassie full time until she can get insurance to cover the cost of damage to her place.”
A flicker of pain flashes over Chantelle’s eyes, but she nods and says, “That’s good. At least she’s safe there. It doesn’t sound like her ex is a very nice person.”
“No,” I mutter. “He’s not.”
Chantelle nods, and continues eating, but she’s fallen quiet now, and I fucking hate it.
I hate all of this.
And I wish, for one fucking second, it would just stop.
Because now I’m caught even deeper between the two of them.
Because they’re both in danger.
And fucked if I’m letting anything happen to either one of them.
Which means, right about now, I’m fucked.
Completely fucked.
~*~*~*~
BOSTON
“Boston?” Chantelle asks, later that night as we sit on the sofa, far enough apart that temptation isn’t strong, but close enough that I can occasionally smell her, and it makes me fucking ache.
Some horror movie is playing on her television. But neither of us has been paying a great deal of attention to it. We’ve been talking, effortlessly as we do, or laughing about stupid shit, or occasionally just falling into comfortable silence. It feels natural, she’s right about that. Being with her does feel easy, like we were made to do it. Like we’ve grown up together and never spent a day apart.
The bond is strong, for fucking sure.
“Yeah?” I ask, watching a man with an axe launch out of a closet.
“How come Maverick and you are so ... angry at one another?”
I turn and stare at her, surprised she asked the question. Not many dare to ask about it, but she’s asking me, full of confidence, and yet complete and utter fascination. She wants to know the answer, she genuinely cares, and for the first time in a fucking long time, I don’t mind that someone is asking.
So, I tell her.
“I’m the reason his girlfriend and unborn baby are dead.”
She jerks back in shock, staring at me, but her face isn’t filled with horror or disgust, as I’d expect, but sympathy and also intrigue. “How so?”