Total pages in book: 121
Estimated words: 114192 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 571(@200wpm)___ 457(@250wpm)___ 381(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 114192 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 571(@200wpm)___ 457(@250wpm)___ 381(@300wpm)
I swear I can hear her heart pounding even though I’m a good two feet away from her. My first thought is that it has to do with the paternity test, but I would get those results same as she would and my phone hasn’t gone off to notify me that I got an email.
She makes me nervous. No woman has ever gotten to me the way Magnolia does.
I blurt out, “Why does it feel like you’re breaking up with me?”
“You didn’t say I was your girlfriend,” she says nearly defensively, but not quite. It’s more with a knowing sadness and I hate it. Is that what’s bothering her?
“You want me to put a label on it?” I nearly offer up the second option, “Or do you want to wait until the results come in?”, but I swallow the words down. Damn do they taste bitter.
“Do you?” she asks back, but then shakes her head, gripping the edge of her chair and a seriousness playing on her expression. “I have to tell you something first.”
“What’s that?” The second I ask, a somber air takes over and I can’t fucking stand being so far away from her. She parts her lips, heaving in a deep breath, but I stop her. “Hold that thought.”
I scoot closer to her, setting my glass on the floor and leaving it there. Then I lean forward and when I’m close enough, I brush my lips against hers in a peck of a kiss.
I know I have her when she tilts up her head, accepting it and then deepening it. When I pull back, her eyes are still closed, like she’s still living in that moment.
She doesn’t dare open them, even when she whispers something that tears at my insides. “I’m scared you aren’t going to want me.”
“Of course I want you.”
“Not when—”
She starts to say something but I cut her off, hating the way her insecurity makes me feel. “What does your heart want?” I know what mine wants. I want her. Exactly how she is. I don’t give a damn if it’s not perfect like love is in the movies. Or if she had something going on with Robert and he thinks he has some claim to her. I don’t give a fuck about anything else.
“To be happy and to make sure my little girl is happy and loved.”
“If I’m her dad, I’ll be here for her to make sure she’s happy.” If I’m her dad … The second statement of the night I never thought I’d utter.
“And if you’re not?” she asks softly, her eyes finally opening. She swallows thickly and before she can repeat herself, I answer honestly. It’s something that’s kept me up at night, thinking that maybe I’m wrong, and Bridget isn’t mine.
“I’ll be here.” I strengthen my voice and add, “I’m not leaving.”
“Let me—” she stops and starts to put her glass down, like it overwhelms her that I admitted I want to be there regardless. Hell, her insecurity is contagious. It creeps up on me. “I have to tell you something and you’re probably going to hate me for it.”
It’s not just that she frowns or that her voice hitches with anxiousness. It’s the look in her eyes. There’s fear and sadness and she’s looking at me like that’s what she expects from me. As if I’d ever want anything other than to see her smile.
“There’s nothing you could say—”
“I slept with Robert.”
Magnolia
“I slept with him … last night.” The confession burns its way through me and there’s not an ounce of relief once it’s spoken. I feel like I could both cry and die at the same time.
No man has ever owned my emotions like he does. There’s an intense fear of disappointing him or hurting him, a fear of losing him that I can’t escape.
Brody’s silent at first, taking a moment to absorb what I just said. All the while I shrink down in size. Not because I’m ashamed of sleeping with two men, but because I’m worried that doing so hurt him.
I didn’t mean for any of this to happen. It’s been one reckless moment after another. “I’m sorry.”
The small office feels hot in an instant. I keep reminding myself that I made my bed and I’m happy to lie in it, but without Brody giving me any kind of signal about how he feels, I’m dying inside.
“Can I be honest?” Brody asks and every red alert goes off as the anxious heat rises, and I prepare myself for whatever he has in store for me.
“Of course.”
There’s no judgment in his tone, only sincerity when he says, “I know you and him have something going on and—”
Cutting Brody off, I explain, “We have for years.” All the memories bombard me. My exhale is shaky and I run my hands through my hair. “I didn’t mean to last night, and I know since you’ve ... been here … I’ve felt torn.”