Total pages in book: 26
Estimated words: 24157 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 121(@200wpm)___ 97(@250wpm)___ 81(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 24157 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 121(@200wpm)___ 97(@250wpm)___ 81(@300wpm)
“Not even your dad?”
The curvy girl shakes her head.
“Rick wants me to go to school no matter what,” says Bailey. “He’s always going on and on about how valuable an education is. But I really think it’d be more important for me to get an apprenticeship or something, if I really want to do interior design.”
The doorbell rings. Our pizza (and the much-anticipated cheesy bread) has arrived. Bailey grabs plates and napkins, and we settle back onto the couch, enjoying our food in silence. A thought has sprouted somewhere in my mind, and I wonder if I should let it bloom. Will she think I’m pitying her, or not letting her pave her own way, if I offer a stepping stone to her dream?
I decide it’s better to make the offer anyways.
“You know,” I say between bites of pizza, “I work with interior designers a lot to stage the homes that I build. Maybe I could help you find a part-time position with one of them.”
Instead of reacting negatively, Bailey lights up, her smile growing huge.
“Really?!” she says, nearly dropping her piece of cheesy bread into the cup of marinara sauce. “Chris, that would be incredible. But I wouldn’t want to impose or anything—”
“You’re not imposing at all,” I reassure her. “I’m the one offering. Let me see what I can do.”
Setting her plate aside, Bailey makes a dive for me and nuzzles against my chest. I chuckle, pulling her in closer and planting a kiss on the top of her head.
“Thank you,” she breathes, her eyes closed, a blissful smile still turning her lips. “That means so much to me.”
Me, too, I think. I’m beginning to realize that there isn’t much I wouldn’t do to make this young woman happy. For all their differences, Rick and Angela raised her right. Bailey has grown up to be incredibly attractive, yes, but also kind, whip-smart, sensible, and empathetic, with a wicked sense of humor to boot. Coupled with an irresistible sex appeal, she possesses all the qualities that I look for in a partner.
I still don’t know what I would call our relationship; I’m not sure what she would label it, either. For all external appearances, she’s still a bright young woman and I’m a grumpy old bastard. But whatever this is, with her in my arms, I’m enjoying it.
8
Bailey
I don’t remember seeing my room this bare before. It’s almost eerie, these plain off-white walls, the windowless curtains, and the shiny hardwood floors. A few of the bigger pieces of furniture remain--my bed, my dresser--but almost everything else has been packed away. An army of cardboard boxes has replaced my knickknacks, art projects, throw pillows, and clothes.
This is really happening, I think, surveying my room with wide eyes. I’m really going to college. State is only an hour away because my dad didn’t want me to go too far. But it still will be a completely new chapter of my life.
Kneeling on my bed, I hug one of my stuffed animals to my chest, a floppy bunny in a gingham dress named Annabelle. Annabelle has been one of my constant companions since I was a kid. I eye one of the giant trash bags on my floor. Maybe it’s time to say goodbye to this relic of my childhood, and embrace my new status as a collegiate woman. Instead, I safely pack her away in one of the boxes, giving her a kiss between the ears. I can be a mature collegiate woman with a stuffed rabbit, damn it.
A ghost of a grin flies onto my lips. I’ve been swearing a lot more since I’ve been spending the past several months with Chris because that man has the mouth of a sailor. I’ve had to be careful not to cuss too much around my dad, who definitely wouldn’t be happy about my extended vocabulary.
As soon as I think of Christopher, though, my smile is replaced with a frown, and a hard knot tightens in my stomach. These past months have been nothing short of magical. The sex definitely has been part of it--sometimes wild and heart-pounding, sometimes gentle and tender, and always, always amazing. I never would have been this sexually satisfied with Donnie, or with any of the other dumb boys at school.
Beyond that, though, I’ve really started to develop feelings for Christopher. Whenever I look at him, my whole body feels warmer and lighter at the same time, as if I’m standing directly in sunlight. I’ve never experienced that sensation with anyone else before.
How am I supposed to move on from that?
There’s no way it’s going to continue when I go to college. Your summer of love is over, honey, I tell myself for what must be the millionth time. Suddenly, I’m willing myself not to cry, sitting with my arms wrapped tightly around myself, trying not to imagine that they’re Christopher’s muscular arms. No way in hell would a busy, successful man jump in his car and drive an hour away to visit some 18-year-old he had sex with over the summer. No way can our relationship--if I can even call it that--last.