Total pages in book: 90
Estimated words: 87921 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 440(@200wpm)___ 352(@250wpm)___ 293(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 87921 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 440(@200wpm)___ 352(@250wpm)___ 293(@300wpm)
The second he mentioned teaching a tango class, I’d known what it was about. When he confirmed it was Cypress Grove, I got a strange twitch in my chest.
He is…Jesus, he’s a fucking enigma is what he is. He’s so damn confident in some ways but doesn’t see his worth in others. He’s funny, and maybe hides behind it and doesn’t want the world to know he has a heart so big I wonder how it fits inside his slender chest. My wild little hurricane.
I can’t make sense of him, but I want to—I really fucking want to, and that should be the last thing on my mind right now. I have Mom and Zane and Steph to worry about. My job and trying to figure out how to be all the things I need to be—friend, confidant, and co-parent with Steph…Dad, friend, and support system for Zane. Very soon, his life is going to change when he starts college. Also, son, caregiver, and support system for Mom too.
I’m single and on my own for the first time in years—hell, in a lot of ways, for the first time in my life. Other than my family, that’s what I should be concentrating on…or maybe that’s the thing that means I should be getting to know Derek more—this kid who in almost every way, has nothing in common with me. But there’s a part of me that likes him. That feels connected to him, and that’s the part making me lose my fucking mind. Jesus, did I really ask to take a dance class with him? Learning to tango has never crossed my mind once, yet after practicing with him, it’s suddenly something I’m interested in? Maybe because I never gave myself the chance to explore new things I might like. Maybe because everyone else was always more important than figuring out who I was.…
Mixed in with all that shit about me is the guilt. I know about Derek’s uncle, but I didn’t tell him Mom is in the same home. I know where he’s teaching the class, and I know he sneaks away to care for someone he loves, and knowing that without cluing Derek in feels like a betrayal.
“What’s wrong, Grumpy Bear?” Frankie asks. We just finished an overnight shift. He’s got his signature black beanie pulled down on his head, as we grab our shit, before heading into the station to go home.
“Just tired,” I reply. “And stop calling me Grumpy Bear.”
“First of all, you’ve been mopey and introspective all night, so I don’t think you’re just tired. You forget I know you. We’ve been partners for a couple of years. Second, we’ve been partners for a couple of years, and you’ve asked me not to call you Grumpy Bear too many times to count, and I still call you by that name. You’d think you’d know me by now too.”
He might have a point there.
I look at him—at his beanie and the hoop piercing in his nose. He’s young and doesn’t have half the shit to worry about that I do. He works his ass off and then during his free time just wants to party and have fun like most people his age. Not that Frankie is irresponsible because he’s not, but he’s more like Derek than I am. He’s the kind of man that should be taking classes and partying with him.
But then…fuck that. I think I might kick Frankie’s ass if he touched him. That’s some bullshit right there. This possessive feeling that claws through my chest when it comes to Derek.
“You’re frowning. Why are you frowning?” he asks.
“I’m not frowning.”
“Oh, tell that to my eyes that are looking at your frowny-ass face. Jesus, Jackson, you’re killing me here. You need to have some fun. Pick a night, and we’re going out.” He crosses his arms and waits.
“I’m not going out with you.” And I’m not sure a dance class with Derek is a good idea either. We never committed to it and honestly, I’m not real sure if that’s something he’ll want to do with me.
“Yeah, I think you are. I’m really fucking good at annoying you. We’re like an old married couple. I know your weaknesses, and I will exploit them. Pick a day, and we’re going out. You need to fucking live your life.”
“I went to Pump the other night,” falls past my lips, and I rub a hand over my beard, knowing I’m going to regret saying that.
“No shit?” he asks.
“No shit.”
“You fuck?”
“Jesus fucking Christ. I’m going home. I’m not going to continue talking about my sex life with you.” I walk out of the building and head for my Jeep.
“Your lack of sex life and you’re right. I’m sorry. That’s a good thing, man. Do more of that, and you’re going out with me too. I’m telling you that will happen.”