Total pages in book: 103
Estimated words: 100523 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 503(@200wpm)___ 402(@250wpm)___ 335(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 100523 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 503(@200wpm)___ 402(@250wpm)___ 335(@300wpm)
I am a bad man with a very dirty mind.
But I’m relieved, too, that she’s dealing with the elephant taking up all the space in the tiny kitchen. She’s a better human than I am.
I exhale deeply, admitting…everything. “You’re right. I’ve been making bullshit small talk.”
Chin up, she gives me a tough-girl grin. “So then this is now officially the commemorative I-saw-your-breasts mug.”
I laugh as she plays our mug-naming game. “Exactly. And who cares? We’re friends. It’s fine.”
She shrugs like it’s all no big deal. “It’s totally fine. Let’s water Bob.”
I take the offered mug and head to the thirsty plant. When I’m done, I square my shoulders like I’ve accomplished something amazing. Well, in a way, I have. “I’m ready to be a plant daddy now.”
“There comes a time in every man’s life when he can take that next step. I’m proud of you, Carter.”
You know what? So am I.
It’s taken a mythical creature on a mug, a thirsty plant, and a whole lot of superhuman willpower, but I’m almost free from the new word of the day.
Rearranging her living room helps me even more. Using my body has always calmed my mind. Hell, I could move her couch all day long if I had to. Turn it ninety degrees. Turn it again. Move it here. Move it there. Doesn’t matter. I like to stay active however I can.
As much as I possibly can.
But there’s nothing left to move now that she’s finally got the couch where she wants it, situated with a view of California Street and the city of San Francisco beyond.
She sinks onto the cranberry-colored cushion, patting the seat beside her. “I do love a good sit,” she says.
Sitting is not my speed, but since she’s urging me to join her, I flop down next to her.
Not too close though.
We both stare out the big bay window, drinking in the city that’s always been my home. Even when my parents moved to Los Angeles for a bit—then moved back—this city with its hills and fog, its crooked streets, and impossible-to-keep-up-with restaurants has always called to me.
To Rachel, too, it seems, since she’s returned here.
She sighs happily as we watch the city roll by.
“Perfect,” she says, looking my way with gratitude and a legit smile that I haven’t seen much of recently. When I smile back, she squeezes my shoulder. “It’s completely different from my view the last several years. Which means, it’s what I want.”
“I’m glad you’re here. I’m not glad about what happened, but it’s good you came home,” I say.
She nods resolutely. “Yeah, me too.”
There’s sadness in her voice, but something like possibility too. Maybe a shred of hope. Then she shakes her head, as if she’s shaking off that dangerous emotion. She spins around, her smile real now. “And you’re coming to my breakup party tomorrow. I need it. It’s the real starting over.”
“Of course,” I say. “I wouldn’t miss it.”
“The Tata Incident won’t change things, right?” she asks, a touch of worry in her tone.
I scoff. “Hell no.”
“Good,” she says, then moves closer to me and gives me a half hug.
I try. I swear, I try to be good. But my eyes. Those naughty fuckers. They steal a peek at the top of her shirt.
I tear my gaze away before I can undress her again mentally.
I am going to have to run six miles tonight to undo the incident.
But I can forget it. It’s what I need, and it’s clearly what she wants since later that night after a haircut and an eight-mile run—overachiever that I am—there’s a delivery waiting for me at my home.
I’m not good with plant species, but I recognize this one for sure. It’s a forget-my-tits ficus.
The note from Rachel confirms it—Meet Jane.
It’s like the incident never happened. This is for the best, but it also makes me a little…lachrymose.
3
HAVE YOU CONSIDERED A GEORGIA O’KEEFFE FOR YOUR UNICORN DICK?
Carter
There’s nothing like having free therapy living next door.
The next morning, I’m emptying the dishwasher and getting my neighbor Monroe up to speed on the Rachel situation.
He’s parked on a stool at the kitchen counter, listening as he savors one of my best-ever cortados, courtesy of this brand-new Slayer single boiler I am obsessed with.
“And then she sent me a plant,” I say, finishing the story.
“Let me rewind to my favorite bit. You actually got her a unicorn mug?”
I shoot him a duh stare as I stack plates in the open cupboard. “Was that not clear, doc?”
With a chuckle, he shakes his head. “I think what’s quite clear is you were thinking with your dick.”
“Have a little sympathy here. It’s that thing where you care what happens to other people.”
“Thanks. I’m in short supply lately.”
“I’ve noticed,” I say.
He waggles his cup at me. “But I will compliment you on this drink. It’s like sex in coffee form.”