Total pages in book: 67
Estimated words: 67144 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 336(@200wpm)___ 269(@250wpm)___ 224(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 67144 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 336(@200wpm)___ 269(@250wpm)___ 224(@300wpm)
But as I imagine every scenario, they all have one thing in common. He’s about six-three, with slate-gray eyes, and a mouth that can perform magic. No matter where I see myself, I see him there, too.
“Do you know what I think?” I ask.
“No. What?”
“I think you’re stuck with me, Mr. Castelli.”
He smiles. “Do you know what I think?”
“No. What?”
“I wouldn’t have it any other way.”
My blood heats as I absorb the way he looks at me.
“I have an idea,” I say.
“Tell me.”
“How would you feel about ordering a pizza for dinner and just lying in bed for the rest of the day? We can watch a movie or, you know, you could find other ways to entertain us.”
He hops to his feet. “I’ll get the menus.”
I laugh, getting up, too, and follow him downstairs.
Chapter Twenty-One
Dahlia
“To be clear,” I say, groaning, “this is not what I had in mind when I suggested you could find ways to entertain us tonight.”
He either misses the sarcasm altogether, or he’s a sadist who enjoys torturing me. Either way, his amusement at my displeasure from doing squats and lunges across the backyard for the last eternity is misplaced.
“You did great,” he says.
“I never endeavored to be great at this. Being a mediocre lunger and squatter is something I can absolutely live with.”
He holds the door open for me. “You should never accept mediocracy, especially in something that you hold the potential to excel in.”
I stop in the foyer and smirk at him. “There’s one time and one place that I care about my ability to squat. And, fortunately for me, it’s your stamina in that situation that’s the weak link.”
“Smart-ass.”
I laugh, following him into the kitchen. “The pizza should be here any time. Think we have enough time to grab a shower?” I smack his ass as he walks in front of me. “If we shower simultaneously, it’ll save time in the end.”
“Has that ever worked for us?”
“Not once.”
We laugh together, something I’m grateful for. I wasn’t sure how we’d navigate our earlier tiff—he had every right to be angry—but we seemed to find a helpful way to communicate our way through it. I was glad he trusted me with his concerns about shouting. It made it easier to be genuine in my remorse, too.
I appreciate so many things about this man. But one of the biggest things I love about Troy falls into a category that none of the men I’ve dated before have ever scored in.
Effort.
He’s surprised me with his ability and desire to show up for me—and not just in his protective hero role. I knew he was a loyal, dedicated man. But I can see he’ll show up as my boyfriend, as a man, as a friend. He’ll show up as a person who wants to do more and better—to grow. At the moment, that manifests itself in running the bath a little cooler than he’d like it because it’s my preference or asking why I feel a certain way—not to pick a fight, but because he wants to understand my position. He’s demonstrated it by standing with me when everyone else thought I was wrong, or by apologizing for his part in a disagreement with no reservation.
I smile at him.
“What?” he asks, handing me a bottle of water.
“I was just thinking about how things work out sometimes. One of the worst days of my life turned into the most beautiful thing in my life. It’s funny how that happens.”
“It’s like it’s fate or something.”
“Do you believe in fate?” I ask, my stomach growling.
He takes a deep breath. “I don’t know. I think people like to believe it when it serves them. Take us, for example. I want to think it’s inevitable that we wound up together. It makes me hopeful that I can’t fuck it up.”
I kiss him quickly.
“What about you?” he asks.
“I didn’t used to.” I walk alongside him upstairs to our bathroom. “I thought that every day you made a series of choices that led you to another series of choices. And your choices were affected by other people’s decisions. Like the world is a huge algorithm. But now? I don’t know. I mean, we fit so well together that it’s hard to imagine now that there was an opportunity of us not happening. You feel like the …”
I blush, stopping myself short of finishing the sentence.
“Of what?”
“Nothing.”
“No, of what?” He slips his shirt over his head, distracting me with his wide shoulders and cut abs. He tosses it on the bathroom vanity. “Finish it.”
“You feel like the only thing in my life that was bound to happen. I know that sounds so corny.”
He grins. “Up until a few days ago, I thought my life was a fucked up and pointless series of events. I mean, what on earth could’ve been the purpose of going through some of the shit I have?” He shrugs. “But now, instead of feeling like a path of destruction, my life feels like a lane leading me right here.”