Total pages in book: 143
Estimated words: 141165 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 706(@200wpm)___ 565(@250wpm)___ 471(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 141165 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 706(@200wpm)___ 565(@250wpm)___ 471(@300wpm)
This time, by my cats. Five out of six are pawing at my calves.
“I know you’ve been waiting, my loves. Look what I have for you.” I rattle the half-gallon of milk. “Come follow.” I guide them to bowls lined in front of the brick fireplace.
Toodles, a tuxedo short-hair, is far too lazy to bother and lounges apathetically on the stair.
“Janie,” Maximoff says firmly. In a way that reminds me to focus.
I divide milk evenly between the bowls. Admittedly, I’ll put myself last because I find other people far more interesting. Cats as well.
But I love how much Maximoff helps me try to concentrate on me for more than a fleeting moment.
“It’s not a lengthy story.” I cap the empty gallon while Ophelia, Carpenter, Walrus, Lady Macbeth, and Licorice eagerly lap up milk. A smile touches my lips.
I stand straighter and turn to face both men.
Maximoff has thick brown hair, forest-green eyes, and sharp features full of protectiveness and concern. We’re no longer teenagers. He’s twenty-three, but he often stands like he’s carrying the world on his broad shoulders.
I’d be able to see the fresh puffy scar on his collarbone from his surgery—but he’s dressed in a Third Eye Blind tee, one of his fiancé’s shirts.
Both men already showered this morning. We all got an early start to the day after the commotion outside. Guys screaming my name at the top of their lungs. Every day it grows louder.
It’s not endearing. Some of them are older than my dad.
Thank you, Grandmother.
I’m in a warped version of Say Anything , but without the boombox and without John Cusack as my love interest. And I may be famous, but I don’t typically deal with fanatic admirers.
I have hecklers.
Men who are quick to criticize my physical appearance. I’m not pretty enough. Not busty enough. Not full-assed enough. And I have too wide of hips. Too big of a stomach.
But after much consideration, I’ve learned to love my body. Because it’s mine and there is only one of me.
I don’t have all the right curves in the right places. I am chubby. But I love my belly rolls, and I adore my love handles and my flat pancake-like ass that’s dimpled with cellulite.
The more I love myself, the more I feel a warm, invisible hug wrap around my body.
Better.
I watch Farrow dip a spoon in oatmeal, but he’s taken a pause. His focused brown eyes are on me.
He’s dressed in his usual black V-neck tucked in black slacks with a black belt and security radio attached, and he’s been sitting casually on the Victorian loveseat. One tattooed foot on the cushion, elbow to his bent knee, and he’s holding an oatmeal bowl.
Farrow tilts his head. “You saw Moretti.”
He’s also observant and perceptive, exactly what I’d hope for in the bodyguard to my best friend.
“Wait, what?” Maximoff whips toward his one true love so quickly that he nearly sloshes hot tea on himself. “Fuck .”
“Careful.” Farrow smiles into a bite of oatmeal.
Maximoff almost reddens, not in embarrassment.
We are all so very flushed these days.
I place the empty milk jug on the mantel and take a seat on the rocking chair. Shifting a fuzzy purple pillow out of the way.
Moffy tries to grimace and hide his attraction. “I’m always more careful than you, man.”
Farrow lifts his brows at him. “Never said you weren’t, wolf scout.” He unravels my best friend in such small moments.
I can’t help but watch with an infectious smile.
Maximoff nods a few times. “Rewind.” He motions with his mug, and hot tea almost spills again.
My smile grows.
Farrow laughs hard.
“Shut up,” Maximoff groans, nearing a smile. He looks over at me like save me from my bodyguard.
He most definitely does not want to be saved. I cross my ankles and lean forward on the rocking chair. “Tu es tellement amoureux.” You’re so in love. I grab my monstrously large mug off the coffee table.
Maximoff opens his mouth, but then takes a breath. Not protesting or denying, but his lips slowly downturn in deeper thought.
He’s staring at me with greater concern. Maybe, possibly, remembering that I’m closed off and out-of-business to the sort of love he’s found with Farrow.
Or perhaps he’s just remembering all the suitors outside.
Or he could be recalling how last night I quit my assistant position in Calloway Couture, and I hadn’t really even begun. I’m such bad publicity right now with the Cinderella ad, and I don’t want my drama to negatively impact my family’s companies.
So I can’t work for my mom’s fashion line or even Cobalt Inc.
It’s official: I’m back to being jobless, as well as passionless. But I’ll figure something out. One thing at a time.
Whatever is on Moffy’s mind, it’s troubling him. He looks like he wants to dive into deep waters and help me swim to shore.
“I’m fine,” I assure him. “We’ve all been through much worse.”