Total pages in book: 119
Estimated words: 116028 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 580(@200wpm)___ 464(@250wpm)___ 387(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 116028 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 580(@200wpm)___ 464(@250wpm)___ 387(@300wpm)
My jaw tenses. No use in asking her to stop, though. Or vice versa. The pair of them never stop. “In other news,” I say in an attempt to steer the topic into safe territory. “My job interview went well.”
“You had an interview?” She sounds startled.
“Yup.” I quickly fill her in on Kamal Jain as I get off the freeway and stop at a set of red lights. “I guess he’ll make his decision after this fundraiser thing in New York.”
“There’s no decision to be made—you’re clearly the best candidate,” she replies with the kind of unshakeable confidence only a mother can feel toward her son.
“Thanks, Ma.” I turn onto the street that houses Tuck’s bar and click my blinker to claim the last available parking spot at the curb. “I just got to my buddy’s and need to parallel park. I’ll call you later this week.”
“Sounds good. I love you.” Does she? Sometimes I wonder.
“Love you too.”
We hang up, and I experience the same sense of overwhelming relief as when I got off the phone with my father last week.
I hop out of the car and glance at the neon signs lighting the front of Tucker’s bar. And there’s actually a line at the door. Business is obviously booming. Good for Tuck.
As I approach the sidewalk, I send him a quick text.
ME: Dude, I’m outside your bar. Not gonna make me freeze my nuts off in this line, are ya?
Three dots appear as he types a response.
TUCK: I’m upstairs. Come up. And 4 future—tell bouncer ur name and he’ll let u in. Ur on the perma guest list
Sweet. I’m a VIP.
I bypass the front door and walk to the side of the building, where a narrow door buzzes open the moment I reach it. I know Tuck is staring at me on a camera right now. I helped him set up the system, which he can control entirely from his smartphone. It makes it easier to get in and out of this place. Plus, he takes security seriously. His baby girl and baby mama are the most important things in the world to him.
“Hey,” I say when I reach the second-floor loft.
Tuck greets me with baby Jamie on his hip. “Gaaah!” she shrieks when she sees me.
I can honestly say she’s one of the most beautiful babies I’ve ever seen. The kid belongs in diaper commercials and on baby-food jars. She inherited the best of both her parents, who are disgustingly attractive to begin with, especially Sabrina.
Jamie’s pink rosebud mouth opens, and she gives me a huge gummy smile. Her arms flail in my direction.
Tuck sighs. “She’s such a little attention seeker.”
“Aw, I don’t mind.” I hold out my arms, and the six-month-old practically somersaults into them. “She’s gotten so big, man.”
“I know. Swear to God, I turn around for five seconds and I look back and she’s doubled in size.”
Jamie wiggles happily in my arms, her chubby hands instantly seeking out the stubble on my face. She loves textures and is fascinated by colors. The last time I saw her, she was in total awe of my tats.
“Are you sure you don’t mind that I stopped by?” I ask as he shuts and locks the front door.
“‘Course not. You’re welcome here any time, man.”
“Where’s Sabrina?”
“Study group.”
“So late?” It’s almost ten o’clock.
“Yup. That woman works her butt off.” Deep pride resonates in his voice.
Sabrina is in law school, and, truth be told, I have no idea how she manages to be a mom while studying to be a lawyer. Fortunately, she and Tuck have help—his mother moved up here from Texas in December. Apparently she lives in an apartment a few blocks away.
“How’s your mom liking Boston?”
“She hates the cold with all her heart.”
I grin. I imagine that February in Texas is a tropical paradise compared to these frigid New England winters.
“But her place has a gorgeous view of the Charles. She says it’s pretty to look at, and she gets to see her granddaughter whenever she wants, so she’s happy. We all are.”
“Sounds like you’ve got a good arrangement going on.”
Tucker nods. He looks so blissed out as he stares at his daughter, who’s still running her teeny fingers all over my chin. She squeals every time she encounters a stubbly whisker. “Want a beer?” he offers.
“Sure. But just one. I’m driving back tonight.”
“We’ve only got cans. Jamie’s really grabby lately, and she knocks shit off the counters when we walk by. I’ve had to pick up broken glass enough times that we just decided, fuck it. We’re a beer-can family now.”
“Cans are fine,” I assure him. Still holding the baby, I accept the can of Peak IPA, and we wander over to the couch.
The apartment features an open-concept layout with the living room on one side, kitchen on the other, and dining area in the far corner. Floor-to-ceiling windows offer a decent view of the small playground across the street, and a hallway off the dining room leads to the bedrooms. I helped Tuck renovate one of those rooms into a nursery for Jamie, and as I settle on the couch cushions and reposition her in my lap, I wonder why she’s not currently in that nursery.