Total pages in book: 89
Estimated words: 84195 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 421(@200wpm)___ 337(@250wpm)___ 281(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 84195 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 421(@200wpm)___ 337(@250wpm)___ 281(@300wpm)
He was at work, and as I looked around the apartment, I felt proud of myself. I was doing a really good job of keeping up on the main part of the house. None of my things had managed to trail out of my bedroom, which yes, might’ve been a totally different story in there, but it was something.
I went straight to my room. I hadn’t made the bed that morning. Clark always made his bed—every single day. Like, what was the point in that? You just got it messy again the same day. There were certain things you had to do, like dishes, because you didn’t use the same one twice, but a bed? I couldn’t think of a good reason to make your bed, especially not daily.
A pile of clothes sat on one side of the bed, and more were stacked in one corner of the room. That wasn’t too bad. I really was keeping things cleaner because of him.
My sewing machine sat on a table in another corner. I went over and sat down. Sewing usually helped clear my mind, and I really needed that right then. It probably shouldn’t matter so much that Mom was dating a new guy. Only a matter of time before she did anyway, and what did I care? She was a grown woman. She could do what she wanted, and she wasn’t going to change. Just… Fuck, it was hard to see her always get hurt. To see her put herself out there time and time again, only to feel worthless when the prick walked away from her.
The way she thought Clark would walk away from me if we ever did date, which obviously, we wouldn’t. It didn’t escape my attention that she knew when a relationship was dangerous for me but not for herself. Clark wasn’t the type of guy to cheat or hurt someone he dated on purpose like the guys Mom chose—and honestly, I couldn’t only blame them; Mom wasn’t innocent herself. But Clark and I were too different. Even if I wanted to fall for him, which I didn’t, we didn’t have enough in common for it to last. He would find someone who made their bed every day.
A few minutes later I heard footsteps in the hallway. I realized I’d been sitting at my sewing machine, staring at it for who knew how long, and now I was about to die by means of a mass murderer who’d entered the apartment.
I looked around for a weapon, found my sewing scissors, and held them up just as Clark peeked into my room. “Jesus, Clark. You scared the shit out of me! I thought I was gonna have to use my scissors on you. What are you doing home?” He was never home at random times during the day.
“Sorry. I had a spare hour, and I was in the neighborhood.”
“No worries.” I set down my weapon.
“What do you sew?” he asked.
“I make clothes. It’s something I’d love to do—have my own clothing line. I mean, I know it will never happen, but…”
“Why wouldn’t it ever happen?”
God, he was cute and naive. “Because I’m me, and stuff like that doesn’t happen for boys like me. Which is fine. It is what it is.”
He frowned, something in his expression I couldn’t read, but whatever it was, it made my heart race. “Skylar…I don’t think there’s anything you can’t do. You’re…I don’t know. You don’t settle.”
Blood rushed through my ears. I didn’t understand why his words affected me so much, but they did. I wanted to ask if he really thought that. I wanted to thank him. I wanted him to tell me why he thought so highly of me. I didn’t do any of those things, though. I just rolled my eyes playfully and said, “Whatever.”
“Yeah, whatever,” he countered. “How was lunch with your mom?”
That, I didn’t want to talk about. At all. What I wanted was to pretend it didn’t happen and maybe distract myself with a boy or two, to remind myself I loved sex and it was all I ever wanted. None of that relationship shit.
12
Clark
As I drove back to work, I couldn’t shake the feeling that something felt off about Skylar. When I’d asked about lunch with his mom, he’d brushed me off and put on a big smile that hadn’t met his eyes. It sucked having to leave again, not only because I wanted to be there for him if he was ready to talk, but also because I really enjoyed hanging out with him. Truth be told, we hadn’t done much besides sharing meals since he’d moved in, which was totally fine, I supposed. We were both busy, after all.
Hearing the excitement in his voice when he talked about sewing was endearing and made me want to know more. Him not thinking he could pursue a dream rattled me. It made me want to investigate design schools in the area and casually drop some pamphlets around the house. But he’d surely see through my ruse and call me on it.