Total pages in book: 93
Estimated words: 90503 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 453(@200wpm)___ 362(@250wpm)___ 302(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 90503 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 453(@200wpm)___ 362(@250wpm)___ 302(@300wpm)
He wasn’t perfect. He was stubborn and impulsive and rebellious, he got moody sometimes, and there was obviously something going on with him he didn’t want me to know about.
But his heart was huge, and being with him was so easy. It was almost as if we’d never been apart.
I felt myself falling.
Ten
Dallas
After my phone call with Finn, I wasn’t sure anything could put me in a good mood.
That was before I discovered the wonder of the chakra-clearing blowjob by Maren Devine.
Holy. Fuck.
I don’t know if it was because she already had me all worked up, what with her sitting on my lap and one hand down the back of my pants and the other one doing all sorts of things to my front and the sound of her voice and the fact that she was devoting all her time and attention to me, or if it was simply the best blowjob I’d ever had—and it was—but I swear to God, I saw stars. Comets. Meteor showers. Quasars, and I’m not even sure what a quasar is.
She was just … incredible. So fearless and unabashed, so eager to please me, so different than she’d been back then. Not that her shyness about it had bothered me back then—when you’re seventeen, a blowjob’s a blowjob—but there was something so erotic about watching her enjoy it so much today. I felt like she wasn’t doing it only for me. (Probably this is something guys tell themselves so they can justify shoving their dick in someone’s mouth, but I really did feel like it was turning her on too.)
But it wasn’t only the blowjob. Every moment I spent with Maren felt good. I loved that I could still make her laugh. I loved that she wasn’t asking me a bunch of questions I couldn’t answer. I loved that she still kissed me like she was seventeen and no one was watching. I felt connected to her in a way I’d been unable to connect with any other woman I’d been with. Sex with other women had always left me feeling empty and unsatisfied. Sex with Maren made me feel alive.
The last thing I wanted to do was to say goodbye tomorrow. But I had no choice—this thing in my head wasn’t going to magically disappear. I either had to treat it or let it do its worst, and neither of those were journeys I would let her take with me or even see me on.
One night was all we had. Maybe two.
“Do you want a souvenir?” I asked her in The D Shop at Comerica Park. “A shirt? A scarf? A beer mug? A pair of Detroit Tigers Multi-Logo Glitter Flip-Flops?” I held them up in front of her face.
She laughed. “No, thanks. But I’m happy to help you pick something out for your niece and nephew.”
“Come on, you need a memento from this weekend. And I want to get you something.” As if anything in here is going to make up for disappearing from her life again. Ignoring the voice in my head, I set the flip-flops down and picked up a women’s navy blue hoodie. “How about this?”
She looked at me like I was nuts. “It’s like ninety degrees out.”
“Right now. But it’s Michigan. It could be forty in a couple hours.”
“True. But—”
“No buts. It’s yours.”
She tipped her head onto my shoulder. “Thanks.”
For Olympia and Lane I picked out stuffed animals, T-shirts, and water bottles, and for myself I bought a hat. We found our seats and spent the next two hours rooting for the Tigers, booing the Red Sox, cursing the umps, and eating ballpark food—Maren refused to eat a hot dog but she did partake in popcorn, nachos, and even cotton candy. There were plenty of fancy options, but I told her it was sacrilegious to eat something called “Buffalo Cauliflower” at a baseball game, because for God’s sake it was vegan and came with celery sticks. In addition, I told her anything served with pepper-olive salad, balsamic vinegar glaze, or on a brioche was also out.
When the game was over, we walked back to the parking garage. My head was aching again, but I wasn’t ready to go home. The hours were passing too quickly.
“You know what I want?” I said to her as we got in the car.
She laughed. “I have a pretty good idea.”
I reached over and tugged on her hair. “Not that. I mean, yes, that, but first I want a Boston Cooler. With real Vernor’s.”
“Mmmm, those are so good. I haven’t had one in years.”
“Me neither. Think we can find one?”
She pulled her phone from her purse and googled it. “Corktown. The Burger Bar.”
“Let’s go.”
The Burger Bar was noisy and crowded, but we managed to find two seats at the bar after a ten-minute wait. We put in our order, and our floats arrived a few minutes later. “Here you go,” said the guy behind the bar as he set them in front of us. “Two Boston Coolers. Made with Vernor’s ginger ale and Stroh’s vanilla, as authentic Detroit as it gets.”