Total pages in book: 160
Estimated words: 163089 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 815(@200wpm)___ 652(@250wpm)___ 544(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 163089 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 815(@200wpm)___ 652(@250wpm)___ 544(@300wpm)
“That’s all I’m asking.” I stand, and he watches me with that hungry look that makes me want to devour him. “Wash up. I’ll wait for you downstairs.”
“Hold on.” He grabs my hand and then, as if realizing he did it, lets me go hesitantly. “Can’t I just leave through the window or something?”
“She already saw you and wouldn’t like your disappearance.”
“Your mom holds a grudge, too?”
“Who do you think I take after?” I lean down and brush my lips against his forehead. “Don’t stress about it. She’s cool.”
His lips part, and his eyes shift to the color of a bright garden, and I have to turn around so I don’t jump back into that bed and never leave.
After I put on sweatpants and a shirt, I head to the kitchen. The smell of fresh coffee and bagels tickles my nostrils as I slide behind Mom.
She’s still in her pale-pink scrubs, her hair tied in a neat bun, and the usual smell of antiseptic hits me when she gives me a side hug.
“You just sit down. I have everything prepared,” she says.
“I’ll make a quick omelet.”
“Oh, right. You need your protein, my hockey star.”
“So does Preston.”
She smiles at me as I grab eggs and some veggies from the fridge.
As I cut the tomatoes and spinach, Mom leans against the counter, cradling her huge coffee mug that has “Best Nurse Ever” written on it—a gift from her co-workers for her thirtieth birthday.
“You can just say what you’re thinking, Mom.” I let out a sigh as I crack the eggs. “No need to hold your smirk like that.”
“So that was Preston Armstrong!” she whisper-yells. “I thought I was seeing things.”
“You weren’t.”
She hits my shoulder with hers. “Look at you scoring the best-looking man in the league.”
“I thought you said that was me.”
“You know what I mean.”
I beat the eggs, my lips curling in a smile. “You’re not wrong. He is the best-looking man.”
“Right? He looks even better in person. So charming and handsome.”
“Stop drooling, Mom.” I narrow my eyes. “He’s your son’s age, and most importantly, he belongs to me.”
“Hey!” She punches me in the shoulder. “Stop being a little shit. I wasn’t hitting on him.”
“You wouldn’t have stood a chance if you were, anyway.” I mix the vegetables with the eggs. “He prefers me.”
“You don’t know that.”
“I’m pretty sure he wouldn’t go for a middle-aged woman.”
“This motherfucker. Are you calling me old?”
“You are old.”
“Very rude.” She scoffs. “I’ll be reporting you for parent abuse.”
“That doesn’t exist, Mom.”
“I’ll make sure it does.”
I laugh, shaking my head, and she joins me, then takes a sip of her coffee. “I’m glad to see you happy. It feels rare.”
“Don’t be ridiculous. I’m always happy.”
“You’re always living, yes, but happy? I don’t think so.” She strokes my arm. “You’re well aware he’s one of them, though, right?”
“Them?”
“Those like your dad and sister. Them. The people who would wear our skins like designer bags if given the chance.”
“He might have been brought up in their midst, but he’s not like them.”
A flash of sadness covers her eyes. “That’s what I used to think of your dad as well, but I was sorely mistaken.”
“Preston is nothing like Dad. He might put up a facade, but he cares, whereas Dad pretends to care, when, in reality, he doesn’t.”
“I hope you’re right.” A small smile paints her lips. “I just don’t want you to get hurt like I was.”
“I won’t,” I say. “I know he’s different. When I met him at Dad’s house, the first and last time I went there, he gave me mango candy and wished me a happy birthday, and sometimes I still see traces of that younger version in him.”
“Aw, he was your first crush?”
I pause. “What?”
“You told me all about him on the way back, remember? You kept talking nonstop about this golden-haired prince-like boy you met in the garden.” She grins. “You even asked me if you could marry him when you grew up.”
“I…did?”
“Sure did. Turns out that boy was Preston? What a small world.”
So I even told my mom I’d marry him. Talk about ambition.
My thoughts scatter as movement comes from behind me. When I tilt my head back, Preston’s standing at the doorway—awkwardly, I might add—all his dashing arrogance replaced by an unsure stance.
He looks absolutely gorgeous with his hair falling over his forehead. “Hi, I mean…morning, ma’am.”
God. He sounds so out of his element; I want to kiss him.
Mom abandons her cup of coffee on the counter and slides to his side with a wide smile. “June is totally fine. Don’t ma’am me. It makes me feel old.”
“You are old, Mom,” I say.
“You shut up.” She gives me a look, then guides Preston to the table.
“You’re not old,” Preston says in his familiar cordial tone. “You look like Marcus’s sister.”
“I know, right?” She hits his shoulder. “I get that a lot.”