Total pages in book: 121
Estimated words: 115198 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 576(@200wpm)___ 461(@250wpm)___ 384(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 115198 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 576(@200wpm)___ 461(@250wpm)___ 384(@300wpm)
“Anna—”
“He has insurance, but because our health care system is a nightmare, he’s underinsured. And he’s a mechanic, you know, so even though he owns his own shop it’s not like he has a pension or paid medical leave.”
It hits me so hard. Of course. This is why she needed money. She’s been scraping her bowl just to cover her expenses and his. And she’s twenty-five.
“Anna, you could have asked me for money anytime.”
She laughs at this, the true, round sound filling the room. “I assumed you were as poor as I am.” Anna tucks her hands beneath her chin. “Besides, I have enough now. It feels weird to take the money from you after everything, but—”
“No. You’re taking it.”
“Unless they figure out we’re lying.”
“Even if they all figure it out, you’re taking it.”
She gazes steadily at me and then nods against her hand. “Okay. I can be selfish when it comes to my dad.”
“It isn’t selfish. It’s a business arrangement, revised verbally just now.”
“Still,” she says, and our gazes snag and hold. “It’s different now.”
It’s my turn to laugh. “I can’t believe it’s only been a week.” Reaching forward, I stroke my thumb over her cheek. “And… whatever happens between us after, I mean who knows… but I’ll make sure you’re taken care of.”
Her eyes widen and she shakes her head. “No way. You’re not responsible for me.”
“I know.” I nod, even if it’s not entirely true. “Let’s just take it one day at a time.”
Anna leans in, kissing me. “One day at a time. That’s all I’ve ever really been able to afford anyway.” She grins, but then her smile turns mischievous as she rolls me over onto her, saying, “Let’s see how it all feels in a few months.”
I tilt my head, looking down at her, knowing I will never tire of this view. “Why in a few months?”
“I’ve heard divorce sex is hot,” she says, and cackles in delight as I dive for her neck.
Twenty-Eight
ANNA
Of all the sounds I dislike in this world, the blare of the alarm at seven this morning takes the top spot. (We set it on the off chance that our all-night bangfest would prevent us from waking in time for the wedding day family breakfast at eight.) (And yes. It absolutely would have). But second only to that noise is the cracking squelch of an incredibly hungover Blaire Weston breaking raw eggs into her coconut water.
“Blaire,” Janet says without looking away from where she’s primly cutting a slice of mango into tiny, Barbie-sized bites, “you really shouldn’t eat raw eggs.” She’s in her standard Janet Weston finery: a soft pink linen lounge set with the word Dior stitched into the breast pocket, and matching Dior sandals.
“Well,” Alex says, and his eyes flicker to me, “correct me if I’m wrong, soon-to-be-Dr. Anna, but I believe eggs contain high amounts of cysteine, an amino acid that helps break down acetaldehyde, which causes hangovers.”
I lift my coffee to him. “Well done.” Apparently while Liam and I were re-creating most of the Kama Sutra, our big brother was studying medical texts.
“Yes, thank you, dear,” Janet drawls. “I’m less concerned about her well-earned hangover and more concerned that she’ll get salmonella and vomit all over Charlie’s couture wedding gown.”
Reagan gags and gets up from the table, GW giggles and begins mimicking the sound, and Alex takes an aggressive slurp of his coffee.
And across the table from me, Liam looks up, already smiling. His hair is a little wild—there was no hope in taming it after last night—and I’m not sure if he’s noticed there’s another small bruise under his ear. Our eyes lock, and I hope he’s thinking the same thing I am, which is that the thing I did with my mouth very, very early this morning was born from pure, divine inspiration and given the sound he made when he came, he really owes me that perfect bite of pineapple on his plate.
With a laugh, he spears the fruit with his fork and drops it on my plate.
“How did you know?” I ask, amazed.
He rests an elbow on the table, setting his chin on his fist. “Because you’ve been staring at it for about five minutes and only just looked up with pleading in your eyes.”
I pop it into my mouth and smile as I chew. “Thank you.”
“No, thank you.”
I was right. He’s definitely thinking about the blow job.
Blaire groans. “The pheromones are so strong at this table, it’s like living in a Teen Wolf fanfic.” She turns a head that looks like it weighs twenty pounds to glare at Alex, who in turn is watching Liam with narrowed beady eyes.
“Liam, darling, no elbows on the table,” Janet murmurs.
Unfazed, Liam straightens, pulling his elbow away and going back to smiling at his breakfast.
Charlie and Kellan arrive, their “we’re six hours away from being newlyweds” glow firmly in place, but the moment Charlie sits, Janet leans over and launches into Defcon One Wedding Day Preparedness mode. A warm ocean breeze flutters the gauzy sleeves of my sundress. Blaire sips miserably at her hell juice; even her hair looks hungover. Jake helps Nixon cut his pancakes while also schooling him on the superiority of coconut syrup over maple, and Alex resentfully cleans up some milk little GW spills across the table. It’s chaos, and stress blankets the air like a haze of bug spray, but there’s something… sort of wonderful about it? I always imagined what it would be like to be part of a big family, and here I am in the thick of it, warts and all. Even with the looming threat of the loophole, Liam and I are optimistic that everything will be okay. We’re falling for each other; we’re not faking a thing.