Total pages in book: 75
Estimated words: 71698 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 358(@200wpm)___ 287(@250wpm)___ 239(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 71698 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 358(@200wpm)___ 287(@250wpm)___ 239(@300wpm)
I blow out a long breath. I’ve heard that intentionally sighing helps lower your blood pressure and decrease stress immediately. Isn’t petting an animal supposed to lower all that bad stuff too? Or humming. Just going at it like a machine for ten minutes straight has proven benefits, I think. Anyway, it’s not like I’m going to burst straight into that spontaneously.
“Do you want to sit down for a second?”
The guestroom consists mostly of a queen-sized bed and two nightstands.
I get that Carissa wants to talk. We didn’t exactly have a chance last night. After dinner, we helped her mom clean up and wash up, then we moved to the living room for tea and kept things light, discussing memories from the road and some of my wildest experiences. Carissa knew all my stories already. It’s nothing the world hasn’t already heard in interviews I’ve given. But her memories? Hearing about the tours from her point of view was utterly fascinating.
It wasn’t entirely uncomfortable to sit and talk with her mom, but of course, there was the whole fact that she walked in on us naked after we’d obviously gotten frisky in her kitchen. If the situation were a potato, it would have been a triple-stuffed, fully loaded one. AKA, seriously complicated.
But that’s just me.
In my head, I still think of myself as just a regular guy, but I know it’s not true.
Carissa knows it’s not true.
Her mom knows it’s not true.
I’m used to late nights, but was relieved when an early night was suggested, and Carissa showed me the guest room. She’d laundered what she could of my clothes, minus the leather pants. I think we both needed time to decompress. I still lay awake for a good portion of the night, thinking about her in the room just down the hall from me. That led me to think about all the memories we’ve shared together over the years, which made for not a lot of sleep.
Despite that, I’m wide awake and alert.
Thinking about getting back into costume to escape her house this morning, only to go back to my big empty one and face all the shit I have coming for me, is a punch to the gut.
I’m usually never quiet, but I’m quiet now.
I drop onto the end of the bed, and Woof Woof Dog jumps up right next to me. He wags his tail madly before circling twice and flipping over, giving me a whole lot of hairy belly and junk right to the face.
“Sorry. That’s a friendly gesture. He does that. He eagles. A lot.”
His head drops to the side, and his tongue lolls out of his mouth as his lips ride up with gravity, giving me the most ridiculously cute happy doggo face.
Carissa sits down on the other side of the bed. She pulls her knees up, scooting behind me. She rubs Woof Woof Dog’s belly, finding the spot that makes his back foot kick before she sets her hands tentatively on my shoulders. I’m not the only one who gets rocked with a tremor at her touch. She’s shaking too.
I lean back into her, letting her know this is more than okay. She doesn’t have to be tentative about touching me.
“How are you doing?” Carissa asks again, this time softer. Her hands find the knots in my muscles, working all the way up to the base of my neck.
The cat on the windowsill isn’t chatting away anymore. He’s just loafed there, purring contentedly for absolutely no reason whatsoever except the windowsill to cat belly to sunlight ratio coming in through the window must be in perfect proportion. That, and he knows he’s safe. He’s fed and watered. He has cat and dog friends. And he’s loved beyond measure by a very special woman and her mother.
“Considering you’re giving me the back massage of a lifetime, I’d say I’m doing alright.”
Her nose drops down to my shoulder. She exhales slowly from between parted lips, her warm breath fanning out over my skin. The hair on the back of my neck stands up, but in a holy shit, that’s unexpectedly sexy kind of way. “This is a lot. You didn’t expect any of it.”
“Sometimes it’s the unexpected things in life that are the most beautiful.”
“Not always. No one likes going on a trip and getting traveler’s diarrhea,” she says.
I make a noise in my throat as I struggle to control my laughter. “Are you comparing yourself to getting a bad stomach?”
“No, I’m just saying.”
“I think your mom’s being pretty cool about this. So are you. Also just saying.”
“We’re not the only ones. You’re always so calm. Does that come from having years of experience standing in front of massive crowds, or from giving interviews and doing all that press? You learn to be one way on the outside and keep your inside stuff just for you? Everyone knows you’re a natural-born performer, but I think it’s more like an acquired skill.”