Total pages in book: 144
Estimated words: 134830 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 674(@200wpm)___ 539(@250wpm)___ 449(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 134830 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 674(@200wpm)___ 539(@250wpm)___ 449(@300wpm)
Samantha’s quicker to the punch, though. “Probably screwing his latest and greatest.”
She doesn’t say it with any judgment. As a relationship therapist with a specialty in intimacy, she’s about as pro-sex as they come. Samantha’s motto is more ‘I scream, you scream, we all scream, and then we live a happy, satisfied life.’ And to be clear, I’m not talking about ice cream here. But still, the off-hand comment that normally wouldn’t bother me in the slightest because I intentionally don’t tell my family anything about my dating life—or life in general—hits differently tonight.
“I was dealing with a work issue,” I snap, my tone more clipped than I intended.
“Oh, no! I hope everything’s okay,” Luna says kindly.
But Kayla smells blood in the water… mine. “What kind of work issue are you dealing with hours after the city’s noise nuisance rules started?”
Fuck. Of course Kayla knows that all construction has to stop at seven o’clock. Why does she know that? Because she knows every damn thing, that’s why.
“Got an upset neighbor at the job I’m working, was trying to smooth things over.” It’s not a lie. It’s important to tell the truth, or some version of it, to Kayla, because she’s got a sixth sense for lying and liars. I swear, she can hear it if you so much as embellish the tiniest bit, a skill I’m sure serves her well at work but is annoying as fuck when you’re trying to keep her out of your business.
“Upset neighbor?” Kayla echoes. “Guess it went well, then, because you’re smiling as you talk about her.”
I scrub my hand over my mouth, physically wiping away this supposed smile. It’s a split second later when I realized that I fucked up and basically told on myself.
“You didn’t correct the ‘she’ assumption,” Samantha notes. “Is she pretty?”
It’s on the tip of my tongue to say there’s no ‘she’, and if there is, she’s ugly as a troll, just to keep them off my back. But I can’t. Kayla would hear the lie, but that’s not why I can’t do it.
It’s because Dani shared a lot with me tonight, something I don’t think she does easily or often, and I won’t shit on that or her by talking smack about tonight.
“She’s fucking gorgeous. Pretty much hates my guts too,” I reveal with a huff as I collapse to a chair, throwing one leg over the arm and slouching down so my head rests on the chairback, deciding that if I’m gonna be a part of this little chick-chat, I might as well get comfy.
“Smart one,” Kayla says.
At the same time, Luna says, “I’m sure that’s not true.”
I shrug, not clarifying which woman I’m agreeing with. “She runs a lunch service out of her kitchen, and my trucks are screwing up her routine. Can’t fix it, which sucks for me and her both, so yeah, she hates me.”
Except when I left tonight, it didn’t feel like hate. It felt like… spring. Like something new and alive was blooming between us after a hard freeze, or some poetic shit I can’t make up.
“And you’re smoothing it over how?” Janey asks, leaning forward with both hands wrapped around her cup and her gray eyes bright as though this is the most exciting thing she’s done all day even though I know fetch with Peanut Butter is a laugh riot of fun.
“Washing dishes?” I answer, though my voice tilts up at the end because I don’t have a fucking clue what I’m doing to fix things. “At least that’s what I did tonight. And I rode my bike so that my truck didn’t take up as much space. And I’m paying for a few of the guys I ran off.”
I don’t explain that I didn’t run them off with the parking situation but by ripping Joshua away from Dani. They’ll read too much into that, so I keep that on mute.
“Sounds like you’re doing a lot,” Luna offers with a smile. “Does she appreciate that you’re trying?”
I scoff. “If by appreciate, you mean flipping me off, telling me to do better, and threatening me with a chef’s knife, then yeah, Dani appreciates it.”
Okay, that’s not exactly how the knife-sharpening went down, but it’s funny. Except the women’s jaws drop open.
“She threatened you with a knife?” Samantha repeats. I’m pretty sure the look that passes among the women now is some version of ‘we ride at dawn to show this bitch who she’s dealing with’, and I rush to dial down their appreciated-but-unnecessary defense.
“Not really,” I correct. “But she got off on my jumping like a cat on a roof when she turned around with it.” I grin at the memory of Dani standing in her kitchen, hair a mess and eyes even messier as she tried to figure out my agenda, but I didn’t have one beyond spending time with her.