Total pages in book: 89
Estimated words: 85682 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 428(@200wpm)___ 343(@250wpm)___ 286(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 85682 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 428(@200wpm)___ 343(@250wpm)___ 286(@300wpm)
“What did you use to do?” he asked while I began.
“Private equity manager. I was very good at my job. I made myself and other people a lot of money. I invested a lot myself, got into real estate. I sold everything when I moved here.”
“Did you like what you did? I don’t mean the success or the money. I mean, did you enjoy your job?”
“I enjoyed being good at it. I liked feeling important and…well, worthy, but I’m not sure that’s the same thing.” It was a lot easier to talk to him this way, my back to Sam while I put sausage into the skillet.
“You’re nuttier than squirrel shit. No, it ain’t the same thing.”
“Nuttier than… I’m going to pretend you didn’t say that.”
“You pretend all you want, but we both know it’s not true.”
“What about you? Do you enjoy working for the postal service?”
He hesitated. I looked over my shoulder to see he wasn’t sure he liked the tables being turned. “I can’t say I do. Not really, but that’s different.”
“Why?”
“Because I’m me, and you’re you. You paid all this money to go to school—or at least paid it back. You made your career define who you are. Guys like me aren’t supposed to get dream careers, or if we do, it’s not the same thing as men like you. I’m never gonna be more than Ryland, and we both know it. I’m okay with that. You never would be.”
Turning to him, I frowned. “There’s nothing wrong with Ryland if you’re happy and can be yourself, but you could be more too, Sam. If anyone can, it’s you. I’m not sure there’s anything you can’t do.”
“I think I mesmerized you with my cock.” I rolled my eyes while he waggled his brows. “Seriously, you’re sayin’ sweet things to me. You don’t have to butter me up to get me into bed. I’m easy. A bit of a slut for you, I reckon.”
He was incredible, addicting, found a way to pierce all my defenses and make me want more. “I’m being serious.”
“I am too.”
“If you could have anything, what would it be?” I asked. “No rules, just…what’s your dream?”
He really seemed to think about the question as if he’d never considered such a thing. “I want my mama to get clean and stay clean. I want her to be happy. To get well in here and in here.” He touched his head and his chest.
Why didn’t it surprise me that his dream would be for someone else and not himself? “What about for you?”
“That is for me. You’re always sayin’ you’re selfish, but maybe you aren’t the only one. Maybe I want her to be well so I don’t have to take care of her or worry about her. So I can just…”
“Just what? What would you do if that was the case?”
Sam shrugged. “Get my own place, for starters.”
Jesus, he really hadn’t ever allowed himself to dream, to think about what kind of life he would have if he was only living for himself.
“Your mom isn’t your responsibility. Neither is her addiction. You said it’s been weeks now since she’s had a drink. Maybe…”
Sam shook his head. “It don’t work that way. We’ve had these lulls before. Shit always goes bad. It is what it is. My dream right now is to have lots and lots of sex with you…and maybe cuddle some more. That was nice. And talk. I like talkin’ with ya. But none of those things are quite like making you laugh. You should do that more often, Em. That’s my dream. I wanna make you laugh all the time.” Sam winked, his words meant to be playful and flirtatious, but they made my heart beat harder. Made the damn thing feel like it was swelling, bigger than it had ever been, than it should be.
This right here, this was the feeling I’d been chasing my whole life, what was even better than success and feeling important. Happiness, contentment, feeling worthy because if I could be part of his dream, if he could care that much, then it had to mean I was something special. It was dangerous and stupid and selfish to let myself feel these things, but I didn’t care. Not if he was offering. Not if I could keep feeling this way.
“Well, shit. I must have said something right. That’s the prettiest smile I’ve ever seen.”
I was forty years old and had never had someone call me pretty as often or in the ways Sam did. I wouldn’t have thought I’d like it, that I’d want it, but I did. “You’re a flirt.”
“With you I am. Somethin’ about you brings it out in me. If you don’t want me to shrivel away, you should get going on that breakfast, though.”
I chuckled and continued to cook.