The Wrong Number (Bad For Me #4) Read Online Lindsey Hart

Categories Genre: Alpha Male, Bad Boy Tags Authors: Series: Bad For Me Series by Lindsey Hart
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Total pages in book: 81
Estimated words: 76347 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 382(@200wpm)___ 305(@250wpm)___ 254(@300wpm)
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“Make sure you eat enough. I’m not sure what the food is like over there, but if you’re starving, let us know, and we’ll mail you something non-perishable.”

“Thanks, Mom. I’m sure I’ll be fine.”

My dad blinks hard, and I’m a little astounded to see tears in his eyes. “It wasn’t that we didn’t believe in you,’ he tells me huskily, reaching out as I step forward for a tight hug.

I’m honestly going to miss this—hugs with my family, talks with my family, everything with my family. It truly does take going away to make you realize what you’re going to have to go without. Yes, I know it’s the oldest saying, but I guess those sayings have stuck around for a reason.

Mom joins in on the hug, and Dad extends his arms, including both of us, so we’re smushed together. I hug her separately after, too, clinging for just a few seconds longer than I probably should if I want to make this easy for everyone. Then, I inhale the smell of her perfume and memorize the feeling of her thick chunky knit sweater beneath my cheek.

“We always believed in you,” Mom says, tucking a stray strand of my hair behind my ear out of habit. “It’s just that we were so worried. We wanted you to be okay.”

“Look at you now. My daughter is a bestselling author with a book deal who’s going to live life in Europe, where she wants to base all her stories. It’s pretty crazy, and I have to say, it’s incredible.”

I said my goodbyes to my brother yesterday, which were also surprisingly tearful on both our parts. I thought if I got all the tears out, I wouldn’t have any left for today, but that was incredibly silly wishful thinking on my part. The tears are now starting to roll down my cheeks, and I brush them away and smile as convincingly as I can at my parents.

“Take care of the place. It’s meant to stay in the family, which is why I wanted you to have it back. Maybe one day I’ll need it back, but if I do, I’ll rent it from you.”

Mom and Dad try to protest again, but we’ve already talked about this. I wanted them to have the house back. As I said, it was meant to stay in our family, and they couldn’t have known how beautiful it would be when they gave it to me. I wanted them to be its caretakers. It’s a sweet little place now with a gorgeous yard—when it’s not currently under snow like it is now because it’s freaking January—and I know they’ll take care of it well.

“Who knows? We might even retire here.” That’s been Dad’s joke ever since I told them I wanted them to take the house back.

“He’s been talking about living out in the country. It would be a nice change of pace, honestly.”

I can’t believe it. My mom is thoroughly a city girl, inside and out, but then, wasn’t I the same way when I first came out here?

“Be safe, honey,” Mom tells me yet again, swiping at her eyes. “Let us know the minute you land in Paris.”

“I will. Absolutely.”

“Please look after my baby girl.” Dad directs that at Atlas.

I think both of my parents were relieved when they found out that we would be going together. I’ve played the whole relationship thing more casually. Like we were taking our time getting to know each other and dating the way normal couples do. They were surprised when I told them that Atlas was going to move with me to Paris, but surprised in a good way. The kind of way that was more along the lines of thank freaking goodness she doesn’t have to be in Europe alone since anything could happen to her—and we mean anything—and we’ve been there and done that, so we know the real definition of the word kind of a way.

“Always.” Atlas seals that promise with a handshake for my dad and a brief hug for my mom.

We both follow them out the door and wave them down as they get in their car and head down the driveway. The sun is nearly blinding against all the white snowdrifts in the yard and lining the road.

“Well?” I turn to Atlas, the man of my dreams, the man I fall more and more in love with every single minute of every single day.

Alright, so maybe every other minute, or every hour, or…I don’t know. I can’t measure it because it’s a feeling and a commitment and a promise, all bundled up with sensation and emotion and memory. It’s a complicated, wonderful thing we’ve embarked on together, and I do know that, minute by minute or hour by hour, from our arguments to our most blissful moments, from sleeping all tucked up in his arms to the super hot sometimes wild and crazy sex and everything in between, he’s it for me.


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