Total pages in book: 161
Estimated words: 154890 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 774(@200wpm)___ 620(@250wpm)___ 516(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 154890 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 774(@200wpm)___ 620(@250wpm)___ 516(@300wpm)
But that’s fine. Women have always been drawn to Whit like hummingbirds to a fire bush. I remember when Connor and Whit would take me to the mall for ice cream, usually at Whit’s insistence. The looks he’d draw from women of all ages—some of them old enough to be his mom! The year I turned fourteen, I suddenly became very popular at school when Whit visited, but it was the girls his own age who annoyed me most. He was my fairy-tale prince, but I had to share him. He had such a way and an innate magnetism. And the girls who hung around the pool in the summer, the ones that led him into the pool house by the hand? Well, I’d decided back then that they were just placeholders until I got boobs. At that age, boobs seemed to be the pinnacle of adulthood. The other thing I learned about boobs was that, like watched pots, they take their time.
As for how he treats me now, it’s worth noting that people only treat you with as much (or as little) respect as you’ll allow. While Whit’s moods might be mercurial, he hasn’t once disrespected me, not even during my clumsy attempts at seduction. That’s just not him.
“You can always look for something else. No point staying in a job that makes you miserable. Life is too short.” Her hands suddenly still on the vase. “I’m sorry, love,” she says, her mouth turning down. “You don’t need me to tell you that, do you? Not after all you’ve been through.”
I send her a bright smile and shake off her concerns. I won’t feel sorry for myself. “What are you taking the oil for, if you don’t mind me asking?”
“My dodgy hip. Just when it’s acting up.”
“Well, I don’t think he needs it.” I’m sure his hips work just fine. In fact, I’m counting on it. I find myself smiling as I trace my finger over an old scar on the tabletop. Whit’s temper is fleeting, and I keep expecting him to burst out of his shirt like the Incredible Hulk. A girl can hope. “I kind of like him the way he is.” It’s a new side to him, and I kind of like it on him. I think a lot of the time I might goad him to it because while I’ve had crankier bosses, I’ve never had one I wanted to bend me over his desk in punishment.
“Oh-oh.”
My smile shrinks as I glance up.
“You like him. Your boss. You like like him.” It’s not an observation. More like an accusation.
“No. I told you, he was Connor’s friend. We have a history.” It’s not as torrid as I’d like it, but I live in hope. “But if I did like him…” Urgh, this is crazy. I cannot confide in my elderly relation. This wouldn’t be happening if I’d stood up to my parents. I should be living in semi-squalor with girls my own age! But then again, Doreen does have years of experience…
“But if you did like him like that?” Doreen hesitantly repeats.
“What would I do about it?” Not in a fatalistic, woe-is-me way. More like give me a hint, naughty Doreen. Show me your temptress ways!
“Well, if you did,” she says, looking at me over the top of her pink-framed spectacles, “I’d suggest you write down all the things you want to happen between you and him. What you’d like to do to him and what you’d like him to do to you.”
“Yes?” Better buy a new notepad because it sounds like I’m making a list. A long list!
“Jot it all down. Get all the dirty details down on the paper.”
“And then?” How do we action this plan?
“Then you take the paper outside with a box of matches and set it on fire—”
“Like a pagan ritual?” I sit straight in my chair. I like it, even if my Baptist parents would have a fit.
“—and never think about him that way again.”
“Oh.” I slump back in my seat. That’s not what I was expecting. “What happened to being bold?”
“I’m an old lady, love. No one is going to be talking about me around the water cooler. And if they did, I wouldn’t hear them on account of my deafness.”
“You’re not going deaf.”
“What?”
“I said—never mind.” I fell for it again. I don’t bother hiding my smile. “Does that go for your neighbors, too? You don’t mind if they gossip?”
“They’re all upwardly mobile types around here. Dinks,” she says as though the word tastes bad. “Double income, no kids,” she adds when I look confused. “No one to fight over in a divorce if you discount the dog. They already look at me as though I’m cheapening the street when I’ve been here since I was three years old. Quite frankly, Mimi love, they can kiss my Irish arse if they do mind.”