Total pages in book: 61
Estimated words: 57866 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 289(@200wpm)___ 231(@250wpm)___ 193(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 57866 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 289(@200wpm)___ 231(@250wpm)___ 193(@300wpm)
“At least you can’t get me pregnant,” she said in a teasing tone.
She reached between us and ran her hand over my erection, letting out a surprised moan. I closed my eyes, forcing myself to hold on. To keep some shred of control.
“I want you, Beau,” she said softly. “Make love to me, just this one time.”
Just one time. You take away my sadness.
Fuck. I moved away from her.
“Not like this,” I said. “I’m sorry. I want you more than you can possibly imagine, but not like this.”
“Not like what?” She grabbed at the bedcovers, pulling them over herself even though I could hardly see her.
“When you’re upset and want me to make your pain go away. With your mom in the next room. Telling me it’s only going to be this one time.”
One time? Fuck that. If that was all she was willing to give me, I wasn’t taking it.
“You should go,” she said, her tone angry and hurt.
“I don’t want to go,” I said. “Can we just start this night over? I came here to spend the evening with you.”
“We can’t just get dressed and act like all that didn’t happen.” She was on the verge of tears again, but this time, it was my fault. “Just go. Please.”
Great. I’d made her shitty Christmas even worse. I picked up my jeans and put them on, then walked into the kitchen to find my shirt.
She didn’t even leave the bedroom, so once I was dressed, I grabbed my coat and left, wishing I’d done things a whole lot differently.
CHAPTER FIFTEEN
Shelby
“Hey, I need your opinion on my outfit,” Marlowe said when I opened my apartment door.
“Sure, come on in.”
I kept the disappointment from my tone. It wasn’t that I was bummed Marlowe was here, but that my heart had been pounding when I heard the knock in hopes it was Beau.
It was New Year’s Eve—six days since he’d left my apartment. He’d texted the next day apologizing, which made it even worse. It hurt knowing he was sorry for something that had made me feel more alive than I had in years.
“Hi Tracy,” Marlowe said when she saw my mom sitting on the couch.
She’d stayed Christmas night and never said anything about leaving. And she’d been grilling me about who had come over on Christmas because I’d left the empty box from the gift Beau had given me on the kitchen table and she’d seen it before I got up the next day.
Rookie mistake. She was like a dog with a bone now, refusing to let go because she knew from that little blue box that I’d been given an expensive gift by a man. I faithfully kept the necklace tucked inside my shirt collar so she wouldn’t see it, but she knew something was up.
“Marlowe, you look like a little firecracker,” my mom said, smiling.
Marlowe’s eyes widened with alarm, probably because who wanted to look like a firecracker? She wore a strapless, super short, sparkly gold dress with fringe on the bottom, and she had a thin, glittery gold headband tucked into her short hair.
“You look amazing,” I said. “Remember it’s New Year’s Eve so you need to have that extra punch.”
“Yeah?” She smiled, looking hopeful. “It’s the shoes that are giving me fits. None of my gold shoes look right with this dress, so I’m stuck with these.”
She wore black heels with thin straps that laced halfway up her calf.
“I think they look great,” I said.
“They’re starting to grow on me.”
“So you’re going out with the accountant again?”
She grinned. “Theo. He’s basically a younger Idris Elba if Idris was an eight instead of a ten. Like, tall, broad shoulders and very handsome, but not can’t look away, my ovaries just incinerated, you know?”
“Ovaries are important. I recommend keeping them intact.”
“Where’s he taking you for dinner?” my mom asked.
Marlowe glanced at her, then back at me. I’d texted her the day after Christmas about my mom showing up and told her about what went down with Beau. It was pretty much a novel broken up into dozens of texts. Marlowe didn’t think my mom should have dropped in unannounced, didn’t think she should be staying without being invited, and was ready and willing to kick her out if I said the word.
“We’re going to a party his boss is hosting,” Marlowe said to me in indirect answer to my mom’s question.
“Ew, no,” my mom said. “He’s not even paying for a nice dinner? Any guy who expects you to get by on celery sticks and free drinks isn’t worth it.”
Marlowe glared at me, silently asking for permission to tell my mom to go to hell. I mouthed I’m sorry, wishing for the thousandth time that I had a mother who didn’t embarrass me.
It was her mental illness. That was the thing that kept me hanging on, unable to cut her out of my life for good. Ironically, her bipolar disorder was hard to treat because of her bipolar disorder. She went through ups and downs, often thinking during her ups that she didn’t need her medication anymore.