Total pages in book: 124
Estimated words: 116232 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 581(@200wpm)___ 465(@250wpm)___ 387(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 116232 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 581(@200wpm)___ 465(@250wpm)___ 387(@300wpm)
“Why?”
Her movements slowed. “What do you mean, why?”
“We did a lot of things tonight, Charlotte. We got naked and we went down on each other. Wasn’t that a kind of sex?” I realized how confrontational my posture had become and tried to relax, softening my voice. “I’m just curious as to why full-on sex is too much, but everything else is okay.” The idea popped into my head and was out before I could think better of it. “Is it, like, a way to keep your body count low?”
Well, shit.
Shock wasn’t a strong enough word for emotion that splashed across her face. She lifted her chin and glared at me. “I don’t have to explain myself to you.”
“No, you don’t. I’m sorry. Forget I said anything.”
It wasn’t fucking likely because she turned and strode for the door. Fuck. I picked up my shirt and tugged it on while chasing after her.
I caught up to her in the entryway, and the Uber app was open on the screen of her phone. I scrubbed a hand over my face while coming up with a way to repair the damage I’d done.
“I didn’t answer your question,” I said. “I didn’t ask for a second date just so I could fuck you.” Could she hear how genuine I was? I hoped my expression made it clear I was serious. “I asked because I want to see you again.”
She lifted her distrustful gaze from the screen.
“You should say no,” I told her. “I’m sure we’re at different places in our lives, and we want different things, and it’s probably a bad idea.” A frustrated sigh escaped my lungs. “But if you give me your number, Charlotte, I’m going to call you.”
There was a flickering spark of hope in her eyes, but it quickly died. “And then what? I don’t want a ‘transactional relationship,’ whatever the fuck that is.” She punched the icon on her screen, ordering her ride, and then leveled a pointed gaze at me. “You say you don’t have time for love, but I don’t have time to waste on a guy who’s telling me that dating him is never going to lead to anywhere.”
She was absolutely right, so why the hell did I feel this urge to push back, to try to encourage her to give me a chance? I should be smart and overrule the feeling.
She’s too young for you anyway.
“Give me your number,” I demanded.
She shook her head and reached for the door. “Have a nice life, Noah.”
SIX
Charlotte
Tonight had been a rollercoaster of emotions, so I should have known there was another steep drop waiting for me when I got home.
My mom was in the kitchen, washing dishes when I came in, and she didn’t even look up from her task as I toed off my shoes.
“Your father wants to talk to you. He’s in the living room.”
My stomach twisted into a tight ball, and for a split second, I considered running away. But I wasn’t a little girl anymore, and running away had gotten me into this situation in the first place. I straightened my shoulders, tucked a lock of hair behind my ear, and tried to sound nonchalant. “Did he say what it was about?”
“You’d have to ask him.” Her tone was a total mystery.
Either she knew and was purposefully being vague, or she hadn’t a clue—and it was most likely the second one. My mother was born and raised in West Virginia, growing up in an ultra-traditional household, and like her mother, she was content to be the picture perfect little housewife.
My father made all the decisions and rules, and she was utterly submissive to him. She loved it, too—I’d swear she was never happier than when she was setting dinner on the table. I didn’t quite get it, but who was I to complain? She was a great mom.
There was a set of pans beside the sink, waiting their turn to get scrubbed. “You want me to help you finish those?” I asked.
It wasn’t just a stall tactic. All my life, my mother had been obsessed with keeping a clean house, and it had rubbed off on me. I felt the urge to wipe down the countertops, to dry the dishes in the drying rack and put them away.
It was why it had taken every fiber of my being not to start cleaning at Noah’s house earlier. He was a bachelor, and I knew I shouldn’t have expected much, but—damn. He was messy.
Fuck me, the whole evening had been messy.
“No, thanks,” my mom said. “I’ve got it. Go see your father.”
I swallowed a breath and made my way toward the living room.
There was some college football rerun playing on the TV, but my dad wasn’t paying any attention to it. He sat on the couch, his laptop was set up on a TV tray in front of him, and he had his phone pressed to one ear.