Total pages in book: 110
Estimated words: 126215 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 631(@200wpm)___ 505(@250wpm)___ 421(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 126215 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 631(@200wpm)___ 505(@250wpm)___ 421(@300wpm)
Then within fuckin’ hours of him getting home, the bitch arrived on his doorstep. With fuckin’ cake. She was babbling. Nervous. And fuckin’ irresistible. He had had to lock himself down from dragging her in the moment he opened the door.
And when he had finally lost the battle, hauling her in, finally tasting her mouth, he had expected her to fight him. To rear away in disgust. Hell, he had fuckin’ hoped for it. But instead she had melted against him, clawed at his fuckin’ back. The wildcat took every inch of him. Those moments he was inside her, touching her, tasting her. Everything was gone. The memories, the demons. Everything. It was only her.
When they were done he had looked at her. Her eyes had been lazy, a sated dreamy expression on her face. She had been fuckin’ beautiful. He actually had to catch himself from laying a soft kiss on her swollen lips. From brushing her golden hair out of her face.
That’s what had got him. The hair. Gold. Not the same, nowhere near. But that shimmer had started the battle again. Made those memories rush back in. The pain at the bottom of his gut. So he was cruel. Brutal. He knew it. The moment she flinched, fuckin’ flinched from the weight of his words he knew. But it was necessary. Vital. She needed to stay away. For her own safety.
“Mom, I’ve got something to tell you,” Lexie declared, leaning over the front desk of reception, grabbing a mint from our bowl.
I didn’t look up from my computer. “Please don’t tell me you’re pregnant. I’m too young to have a teenage daughter, let alone a granddaughter. They’d put me on the news,” I said distractedly. I looked up with a grim expression. “Is it worse? Have you turned into a,” I paused for dramatic effect, “a Belieber?” I finished with horror.
It was Wednesday. A week after what I was now referring in my mind as the incident. I had sat on the floor of my front door for exactly an hour, wallowing in self-pity and shame. Then I had pulled myself together, made myself an appointment with a doctor for an STD check and thanked God I was on the pill. Not because of all the action I got. I was a single mom trying to give my daughter a life with a roof over her head and the possibility of a college education. I didn’t have much time for romantic dalliances. Not only that, I didn’t want a parade of men in front of Lexie. And there was the little issue of what her lovely father had done to me before. Thanks to that lovely cocktail of events I was pretty dry on the sexual encounter front. I had them sporadically, and Lexie never knew. But this latest disaster was a great reason why I should stay away from men indefinitely.
“I’m in a band!” she announced excitedly as if I hadn’t spoken at all.
“Some kids at school heard me playing in a study period, we got to chatting and boom!” She made a gesture with her hands. “A band was born.”
I stared dumbly at her a second. “Tell me it’s a TLC cover band,” I pleaded with a straight face.
Lexie scowled at me.
I smiled and patted her hand. “Come on, kid, you’ve had sixteen years of my brand of humor. You’d think by now you could roll with it. That’s fricking awesome—I can’t wait to meet them,” I told her sincerely.
I inwardly let out a breath of relief. Lexie seemed like she had been doing fine at her new school; she hadn’t come home with a major wedgie or any black eyes, so things couldn’t be that bad. But she wasn’t mentioning too many new friends, nor going for sleepovers. However, even at her old school, Lexie wasn’t much for sleepovers. She and her best friend Emma mainly hung out with me watching movies.
“Well,” she said cautiously, “I was hoping that since we’ve got that garage we never use...”
“On account of there being too much stuff in there I’m not mentally or physically prepared to unpack,” I interrupted her.
“Yeah, that. Well, since it actually isn’t being utilized for its intended purpose, I thought we could repurpose it,” she trailed off and gave me a look.
“Repurpose it as what, exactly?” I asked suspiciously, not catching on. It had been hours since my last coffee. And since the incident I wasn’t sleeping too great. My mind went back to the conversation at hand. “Please don’t say a Pilates studio. Or a yoga studio. Or any studio type thing that involves exercise.”
“As a place for my band to practice,” she cut me off, seeming to know I was about to rattle off every unpleasant healthy purpose she could possibly have.
I relaxed. “Thank God,” I muttered.
Lexie brightened. “Righteous,” she declared, taking my blasphemy as a yes.
“Someone’s gotta determine whether you guys are destined for superstardom,” I said, my mind catching up somewhat. A light bulb popped over my head. “Hey, I could be your momager! Get you gigs, do your wardrobe. Ride your coattails all the way to the Grammys.” I was mentally calculating my cut.
“Mom, we’re a high school band who haven’t even properly rehearsed yet. Don’t write the acceptance speech just yet,” she chided.
“Mmhmm,” I said distractedly, thinking of the Porsche I’d buy with my income.
Brad the front desk receptionist wandered past. “Brad!” I called, stopping him. “Lexie’s band is going to be world famous. Want her autograph now so you can sell it on eBay in five years and retire a rich man?” I asked him.
He grinned. “You bet. I’ll also be doing a TMZ interview telling all about how I knew her before she was gobbled up by the fame monster,” he responded without missing a beat.
I gave him a thumbs up and turned to Lexie, grinning. She had her head in her hands.
I ignored this. “So, when do I get to meet the band?” I asked, glancing back to my reservation list on the computer. “Let’s have them for dinner,” I said before she could answer. “By have them for dinner I do not mean you cook some gluten free, sugar free, happiness free dish containing sauerkraut,” I told her. “I’m talking we have them over and get pizza delivered to the house. We don’t want to scare them off with your health freak tendencies—it could break up the band before it even begins. Kale could be the Yoko Ono to your Beatles,” I said in all seriousness.