Total pages in book: 120
Estimated words: 111414 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 557(@200wpm)___ 446(@250wpm)___ 371(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 111414 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 557(@200wpm)___ 446(@250wpm)___ 371(@300wpm)
He doesn’t smile, doesn’t react in the slightest. He’s the consummate professional. Like me . . . usually.
“What’s up?” Taya asks him.
“Just checking in because I heard . . . noises,” he answers tactfully. “Shall I call a plumber?”
I flip over, wiggling my way off the counter until my feet touch the tile floor. Lying face down over the counter for support, I tell Carlo, “I was singing.”
“Singing?” he repeats doubtfully.
Taya snorts. “That’s what she’s calling it. We’re not telling her that she sounds like a donkey giving birth, who’s then been sampled and looped.”
She makes an awful braying sound and then does some trick with her voice that makes it sound like a DJ scratching a record. It’s eardrum busting. “Hey! I don’t sound like that!” I shout.
“Mmhmm,” she agrees without agreeing in the slightest. To Carlo, she says, “We’re fine. As for Jayme here, I think I’m going to get her in the tub. She’s got alfredo sauce on her foot, and now, it’s all over my floor.”
I twist around, trying to see my foot and Taya’s floor. But it makes me dizzy, so I give up and press my cheek to the cool counter. The faint gray swirls in the white are tempting, and I trace one with my fingertip. “I should’ve told him sooner. I was going to. But Mom and Dad showed up before I had a chance. And he was already mad at me because of Archer.”
“Archer?” Carlo echoes, a thread of concern in his voice. He’s professional and likely does truly want to be on alert for any security concerns, but he’s also not immune to gossip and he’s well aware that I was here a short time ago with Carson Steen, so mentioning another man’s name is a tempting nugget.
I try to clear my head and speak more carefully. He doesn’t know who my parents are, nor does he need to. I gesture to Carlo with a tilt of my head. “Shh,” I whisper to Taya, a finger to my lips. “He doesn’t know either.”
“She’s been a bit all over the place,” Taya explains, “but Archer is Carson’s brother. I think.”
“Yes!” I point at her, glad she got my hint about not telling Carlo about my parents. Nodding wildly, I add, “Correctamundo! Get the woman a prize!”
“A prize sounds like a great idea,” Taya agrees, taking my hands. “How about a bath, and then you can tell me everything?”
She leads me out of the kitchen, and I’m reasonably sure I’m leaving a trail of footprints from my alfredoed foot.
Taya can deal with that since she told me I didn’t put my foot in noodles in the first place, I think bitchily.
“Bye, Carlooo!” I sing, my excellent voice sounding like an angel’s as it echoes off the hallway’s twelve-foot ceiling. And not at all like a howling wolf. But then, why is he laughing from the living room?
“Ah-Oooooo!” I yell, and that ricochets even better, making me giggle, so I do it again. “Ah-Oooooo! I’m a she-wolf!”
In her bathroom, Taya helps me sit down on the wide edge of her small indoor swimming pool masquerading as a bathtub and starts the water. Her tub is huge and deep, and I can’t wait to sink into it and let the water wash away everything that happened. Maybe it can even turn back the clock to last night at the charity event, giving me the opportunity to handle the Archer issue differently and tell Carson my secret. That’s not asking for much from a foot and half of hot water and bubbles, is it?
“Okay, strip,” Taya orders.
I balk, frowning. “I’m not getting naked in front of you.”
Taya barks out a laugh. “You ain’t got nothing I ain’t seen before. And let’s be real, if I wanted your kitty cat, I would’ve already had it.”
“I don’t . . . I’m not . . . Taya, we’re friends. With no benefits.” I wave my hands in a classic ‘no way’ motion in front of my clenched legs.
“Exactly,” she explains, slowly grabbing my sweatshirt and working it up as though I might run away. To be clear, I don’t think I could run three steps without eating floor. “Which is why I’m helping you. I wouldn’t do this for anyone else, Jayme.”
There’s a bit of tenderness in her voice, and I’m reminded, even through my haze, that Taya isn’t a caretaker. She’s hard, defensive, and looks out for number one . . . always.
But she’s taking care of me. Like a true friend.
“I love you,” I gush suddenly, lifting my arms to help her get my sweatshirt the rest of the way off.
“You too, bitch. Now drop yo’ drawers and get in the bathtub.”
I do as instructed and even let Taya hold my hand as I step into the water so I don’t slip and bust my ass. Or my head, which is starting to pound.