Total pages in book: 70
Estimated words: 67733 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 339(@200wpm)___ 271(@250wpm)___ 226(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 67733 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 339(@200wpm)___ 271(@250wpm)___ 226(@300wpm)
“I pick up shifts from time to time.” Brushing occurs around talking, and while it’s not the most becoming combination of activities, I do love the level of comfortableness we have with each other in such a short time. “Probably picking up Gladys’s on Tuesday so she can celebrate her daughter’s birthday all day.” An unmistakable longing appears in my expression. “She’s turning four.”
Harper offers me a sweet smile prior to poking, “Do you like bartending?”
“I don’t hate it.”
“Do you actually like serving?”
After spitting out the foamy mixture, I retort, “I don’t hate it, either.”
“Okay, but do you like it?” Her repetition has me resuming my scrubbing. “Better yet, do you love it? Is it something you see yourself doing for the rest of your life or even the next thirty to forty years?”
The familiar line of questioning causes me to roll my eyes in annoyance.
“Have you ever considered management?”
“No.”
“Why not? They make more money-”
“Not always.”
“Have better set schedules-”
“Rarely.”
“And benefits.”
I spit again, this time turning on the water to rinse it away.
“I know you’re thinking benefits probably aren’t that important but-”
“Coño,” my bite of exasperation silences her as I shut off the sink, “please don’t talk to me like I’m some barely eighteen-year-old lad that doesn’t understand how the real-world bloody works, Harper.” Tossing my toothbrush into the holder is followed by me planting myself in the doorway. “You treat me like a man when I’m between your legs, treat me like one when I’m not.”
Her eyebrows lift in a displeased nature. “Didn’t realize giving a fuck about my boyfriend’s career – or lack thereof – meant I was belittling him.”
“It is when you imply, he doesn’t think about those things for himself.”
“How the hell would I know what you’re thinking in that department, Tate, since every time the subject of work for you comes up you change the fucking topic like you’re wanted for armed robbery in six states.”
“Just five.”
The playful response receives a sassy smirk. “I’m turning you in for the reward the second you walk out my front door.”
“How do you know there’s a reward?”
“I don’t, but I’m not afraid to wait ‘til there is, if there isn’t.”
Leaning against the doorframe is done on a shared chuckle.
“Look, Tate, it’s your life. Do whatever the fuck you want but don’t fault me for giving a shit or trying to take interest.”
Defensiveness on the sensitive subject prompts me into folding my arms across my bare chest. “There’s a difference between interested and dictating.”
“Just like there’s a difference between discussing and attacking.” Her body language swiftly mirrors mine. “Wanna tell me why you’re doing the latter?”
I briefly drop my attention to where my bare feet are braced on her cold marble floors before meeting her gaze again. “I hear this shite enough from my parents. It never starts off as criticism, yet it never lands anywhere else. The number of lunches and dinners I’ve had end in an interrogation of ‘what are you going to do with your life’ is too many for my own liking and not a number I’d like to increase with the woman I actually want my future to grow with.”
Unlike me, her arms drop in surrender. “I want you in my future, too.”
The grin I’m allowed to have is short-lived.
“But not if we can’t talk about shit, especially not the harder topics, like money and careers and kids-”
“As many as you’ll have for me.” Redness not only tints the cheeks I love to cup before bed each night it encourages my frame to saunter itself closer. “And I pray the number is much higher than one.”
Rather than shut the idea down, she counters with, “And how will we be affording all these kids? I mean, don’t get me wrong, I make six figures; however, I would rather us not be a one household income if we don’t have to be. I grew up in that shit. One flow of cash is fine but two is better. More stable. And I would want our kids to have the most financial stability possible.”
I halt my movements with a considerable distance still between us. “Do you need me to have all these answers right this second or am I allowed some time to discover them?” Receiving her twitched glare causes me to lower my tense shoulders. My tone. “I’m honestly happy just serving. Is it a glorious job? No. Am I paid well? Fairly. Does it have benefits? Not really. Do I wish I would’ve gone to uni to study microbiology or some shite? Also no. Sitting in a classroom isn’t for me. And the idea of sitting in a boardroom isn’t, either. I love meeting new people. And talking to them. And making their evening better. And the flexibility of my scheduling. And my time. I don’t serve because I don’t know how to do anything else, Harper. I serve because at this point in my life it’s often mighty craic and I enjoy it.”