Total pages in book: 15
Estimated words: 14190 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 71(@200wpm)___ 57(@250wpm)___ 47(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 14190 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 71(@200wpm)___ 57(@250wpm)___ 47(@300wpm)
She’s not doing anything more than holding on to my arm, but my body reacts as if we’ve just started foreplay. This is always what happens whenever she touches me, and she touches me plenty, which is why I often find myself in awkward, uncomfortable situations—random erections when she hugs me (she’s a big hugger) or kisses my cheek or weaves her arm through mine.
I shift uncomfortably in my seat and nod. “Okay, I promise.”
I turn off the car and walk to her side, opening her door and helping her out of my Camry. Just as I reach the doorway and turn the knob, she holds onto my arm and presses her cheek to my bicep.
Ah, fuck. Here we go again.
I try to think of anything to distract me, and the only one that works is seeing Lucille sitting by the dining table and sipping her tea. Allie runs up to her for a kiss on the cheek and sprints to her bedroom upstairs to grab something. Following Allie’s earlier instructions, I swing my gaze toward any point in the kitchen except Lucille.
“Good evening, Mrs. Smith.” I bow to her, which is a weird thing to do. I am a grown man who’s on his way to becoming a surgeon. Hopefully. Yet Lucille still manages to make me feel like that teen with zero self-esteem.
I spot the glass kettle in the corner, grab a mug from the overhead cabinet, and pour myself some tea. It’s fucking disgusting, like I just swallowed leaves with soil.
“Tristan, how do you know where to find the mug?”
I turn around to face her, and she eyes me suspiciously above the rim of her cup. “I’ve been coming here for fifteen years, give or take, Mrs. Smith. I know where things are already. I can find pretty much everything here.”
Lucille puts down her cup on the coaster and taps her fingernails on the wooden table. “Do you, now? Then why can’t you find the balls to confess to her?”
I sigh. I walked in on that one, didn’t I? Yes, she knows I have feelings for Allie, and no, I have no idea how she found out. “I don’t know what you mean, Lucille.”
“Do not call me Lucille. I’m Mrs. Smith to you. Until you marry my granddaughter, you will only ever address me as Mrs. Smith.”
“You told Kevin to call you Lucille,” I tell her as I sit on the chair on the opposite side. I try to maintain a safe distance from her every single time. The woman hates me, and if I’m being honest, she terrifies me too. Who knows if she wants to fling that cup into my face?
“Who the hell is that?”
“The football guy who carried Allie home after she sprained an ankle.”
Lucille gets this dreamy look on her face, like she’s twenty again. “Ah, that hot guy who was as wide as my door. Too bad he was blonde.”
“He was also a dick.”
“The only thing men are good for.”
I choke on my tea. “Gee, thanks, Mrs. Smith.”
She waves me off and motions to the door behind her. “A hinge on the bathroom door keeps creaking at night. I need you to fix it for me.”
“Maybe it’s the ghost of your past coming to haunt you.”
“Look at you, cracking jokes, thinking you’re funny.” She plants both palms on the table and sneers. “You know what’s funnier? You still being in the friend zone after all these years.”
Damn. This woman is cruel. She really knows how to hit me where it hurts. “Fine. I’ll look at it.”
Lucille nods like she fully expects me to cower before her. To be fair, it’s hard not to get scared around her. Allie definitely takes after her grandmother. “Have I ever told you, Tristan, that I was named after B.B. King’s guitar?”
I snort. “No, you weren’t. You’re older than him.”
She points at my chest and scrunches her nose. “Now this is why you don’t get anywhere with Allison.”
“And yet you insist on calling me for every minor inconvenience. You know I have work, right?”
“Who else would I call?”
“Johnson is right across from you, and he’s always waiting for you to notice him.”
Lucille scoffs and rolls her eyes. I swear this woman has more sass in her pinkie than anyone I’ve ever met. “He’s younger than me. I don’t like younger men.”
“He’s 85.”
“Younger than me by five years. Besides, he walks like his balls hurt.”
Where the hell is Allie and what’s taking her so long?
“No offense, Mrs. Smith, but you walk the same way.”
“Yeah, ‘cause I got brass balls. They’re heavy. You wouldn’t know.”
I finish my tea and massage my temples. “It’s not easy, you know, confessing to Allie.”
“Hence why you walk like that. You got raisins for balls.”
“Can we stop talking about balls? My balls in particular?”
Allie’s footsteps thud on the stairs, and Lucille and I both turn to watch her bouncing down the steps.