Total pages in book: 127
Estimated words: 123435 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 617(@200wpm)___ 494(@250wpm)___ 411(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 123435 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 617(@200wpm)___ 494(@250wpm)___ 411(@300wpm)
Tell him to slow down.
I hear Tate’s voice in my head.
But I feel too awkward asking him to change gears. Not when he’s moaning as if he’s thoroughly enjoying this. His fingers are threaded through my hair. One hand strokes my thigh over my yoga pants. Fortunately, I’m granted a reprieve when he comes up for air. I suck in as much oxygen as my lungs will allow, while Aaron mumbles, “You’re so fucking pretty,” and abruptly starts “kissing” me again. At this point, I don’t think it qualifies as actual kissing, so much as face banging.
Say something.
I say nothing.
Yup, I chicken out. I let him keep doing what he thinks of as sexy kissing for another solid minute. Until, to my sheer relief, a little voice interrupts us.
“Cassie?” Monique whines from the stairs.
Aaron and I break apart. “Hold that thought,” I tell him, when inside I’m like, please, forget that thought.
I step into the hall and find Mo wobbling down the stairs in her PJs, wide awake.
“Hey, squirt.” I frown. “Why aren’t you in bed?”
“I can’t sleep.”
“Aww. Well, that’s not good. How can we fix that?”
“Can you tell me another story?”
I glance at the clock hanging on the wall at the entrance to the kitchen. It’s five past ten. An hour past her bedtime. And Nia and my dad should be home in the next hour or so. I bite my cheek. I can’t have Monique up and about when they get back or Nia will never leave me alone with the girls again.
“All right.” I let out a sigh. “Go up to bed and we’ll do another story. Just give me a sec to say goodbye to Aaron.”
“I’ll wait here.” With a stubborn jut of her chin, she plants her butt on the bottom step.
“Okay. But don’t move.”
When I reenter the living room, Aaron is already up, phone in hand. He swipes his keys off the coffee table.
“You heard that?” I say wryly.
“Yeah.”
“I’m sorry. I need to go back upstairs and put her to sleep, and I feel bad making you sit and wait again.” Monique’s insomnia also happens to be the escape hatch I’d been praying for, but I keep that thought to myself.
“It’s no problem,” he says easily. “Why don’t we meet again during the week? I heard there’s a really good mini golf course on the south end of the boardwalk.”
“Sure. Sounds good.”
I walk him to the door, where he leans in to kiss me goodbye. Luckily, just a kiss on the cheek, his tongue remaining firmly in his own mouth.
“Good night, sexy,” he says huskily, and I can’t lie—it does nothing for me.
I close the door after him and lock it. Then I stand there for a moment, exhaling a long, tired breath when I hear his car driving away. I don’t think this Aaron thing is going to work. A friendship, maybe, but I honestly can’t envision anything more than that. Which means—
A resounding crash jolts me from my thoughts.
It sounded like it came from the kitchen.
A wave of fear slams into me, propelling me forward. “Monique?” I shout, running through the house.
I fly into the kitchen and my heart stops when I spot her small body sprawled by the tall cabinet where we keep the snacks. The bottom shelf has broken off, the splintered plank now lying on the floor. It’s clear she tried to climb it, and it didn’t hold her weight. Random items are strewn around her feet—bags of chips, a can of peanuts, an array of baking supplies. On the top shelf, another tin of nuts teeters on the edge before crashing down and missing Monique’s head by mere inches. She screeches in surprise.
I dive onto the floor and help her into a sitting position. “Oh my God. Sweetheart. Are you okay? Where are you hurt?”
I snap into emergency mode and search her for injuries, the frigid chill of panic icing my veins when I notice the cut on her jaw. It’s not bleeding, just a few red dots, but whatever hit her did break the skin and leave a small indentation.
Tears stream down Monique’s face. “The thing fell on my face. That one.” She points.
I follow her finger to a peanut can that’s rolling toward the fridge. Okay. Thank God. It’s a plastic container. Not glass. Although either way Nia is going to kill me.
“It broke my face,” Mo sobs. “I just wanted the rice cakes.”
“Come here, baby.” I pick her up. She wraps her arms and legs around me and clings tight. Her wails begin to quiet, transforming into hiccups.
“Let’s get you a Band-Aid.”
“I don’t want a Band-Aid,” she cries, then hiccups again.
“Tough. I’m going to put you down now, okay?” I set her on the chair at the kitchen table. “Don’t you move a muscle, you hear me? Not one muscle, Mo.”