Total pages in book: 73
Estimated words: 67465 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 337(@200wpm)___ 270(@250wpm)___ 225(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 67465 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 337(@200wpm)___ 270(@250wpm)___ 225(@300wpm)
Another grunt.
I wish we hadn’t regressed to the language of cavemen as it’s doing a serious disservice to them because they probably used those grunts as a method of communication while I’m getting nothing at all here. Also, maybe cavemen actually did more than grunt. I don’t know. I’m so sorry, cavemen.
“Van?” I debate telling a ridiculous joke just to see him smile. I don’t think he’s done that since he got back. Maybe he saves them for private moments where it’s just him with no one to see it. But I’d like to see it. I can’t even remember what his full-on grin looks like.
I do remember how he used to walk as a teenager, with a sexy sort of swagger that I always thought he’d grow into as a man, but I haven’t seen that walk either. Logically, I know it’s probably because he was metaphorically kicked in the nuts and completely emasculated by his ex-wife, but I can’t say that’s the reason. I don’t know anything about anything, really. Back in the day, I had enough of my own problems to worry about, with my parents losing everything, going bankrupt, and just trying to hang on. I wasn’t paying enough attention to what was going on with Kimmy and, by larger extension, Van. I watched him, sure, because I had a hopeless crush on him, but it wasn’t like he was going to take me into his confidence and pour his heart out to his little sister’s best friend. Even when I got older, I was still three years younger than him, and when you’re a teenager, that’s a big deal, I guess.
I have no idea why I think he’ll do the pouring out his heart thing now.
He’s clearly not in a talkative mood, and there doesn’t seem to be any further information I can wring from him, and honestly, I’ve accomplished my mission. Haven’t I? I believed him when he said he wasn’t going to mess with the company. I’m sure I can convince Kimmy.
“I should probably get going. I just remembered I should return the van. Nanny has my number, so if you get this thing going or if you need some more help, I’m off after five most days, and I have weekends off. I’m more than willing to come and help out.” And not spy on you. Or spy on you. Or whatever, maybe I just want to be around. I also don’t want to appear pathetic, clingy, or forceful, so bailing right now is probably a good idea.
Lame. It’s a lame excuse, and Van knows it. He grunts.
I’ve never been someone who is very good at impulse decisions. I tend to overthink everything, and when I do something impulsive, it’s always something I regret later because I somehow either manage to mess it up or it’s something I should have actually taken the time to think about. Whatever this thing is, moving my feet forward is probably a bad impulse decision in the making. It’s coming. Oh god, it’s coming. And my feet won’t stop. I’m moving forward through the garage, inhaling motor oil, ancient gasoline, and the citrusy, spicy scent of Van. Then, oh god, I’m walking around him, and he still hasn’t moved. It’s like he’s frozen in time, enabling my bad decision that hasn’t happened yet, and then it happens.
My arms slip around Van’s huge shoulders. He goes absolutely rigid, which allows me to half melt, half flop against his back until my hands meet around his muscular chest and my face grazes the back of his T-shirt. He smells like freshly cut grass and the salt of his sweat, which isn’t gross at all. It’s like he sweats fresh rain and citrus, for goodness freaking sake. I rest there for just a second, absorbing his warmth and the sticky dampness of him that is somehow beautiful too. I memorize as many little details as I can before I pull back. I know this is never going to happen again, so I’m going to keep every little bit of it treasured away in my memory forever.
Pathetic? Please. It’s not like this hug is fulfilling a lifetime fantasy or anything. Alright, so maybe it’s a little bit pathetic. But whatever.
I stumble back a few steps, putting a safe distance between us, and Van doesn’t move. His hand is frozen on the screwdriver, his body rigid and tense. “You—you looked like maybe you needed that,” I stammer, gulping for air so loudly that he can probably hear. “Whatever the reason why, or whatever anyone else says, I’m glad you’re back. If you ever need someone to talk to, I’m all ears and no judgment.” Someone needs to put me out of my misery, that’s for freaking sure.
I take off, fleeing the garage, my rubber boots scraping over the uneven floor. I even make it out without tripping and doing a faceplant. In the backyard, though, the gate makes me stumble, and then the bush monster on the other side catches me, wrapping snarly, long branch arms around me. It actually keeps me from falling, but it does take me a while to get myself untangled. I’m so unsteady after that it’s a miracle I make it into the van. It coughs to life, sputtering as I steer it down the alley and back to the main streets.