Total pages in book: 110
Estimated words: 106935 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 535(@200wpm)___ 428(@250wpm)___ 356(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 106935 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 535(@200wpm)___ 428(@250wpm)___ 356(@300wpm)
“I like cherries,” he says, a little seductive.
“I know you do,” I say, teasing him back, then I take a drink of my wine and add, “and she also wants to integrate my app into her company. We’re meeting about that next week.”
“Wow. That’s big, Layla,” he says.
“I’m pretty excited.” I cross my fingers then pick up my fork and dig in some more.
“Is that your goal?”
“A big payoff is our goal,” I say.
“Sweetheart, you’re hot,” he says with a sexy rumble, then he adds, “If you ever want to run anything past me, let me know.”
I appreciate that he doesn’t suggest I ask him for advice, though I would ask. But he treats me like an equal, offering insight and a sounding board.
“I will,” I say, and I’d be a fool not to use him as a resource. But I’m not going to use him tonight.
Instead, I tell him to stay put while I refill his whiskey, then clean up. When I’m done, I return to him. “Turn around,” I instruct, motioning for him to shift so I can sit behind him on the couch.
“Why?”
“Just do it,” I command.
With a grumble he shifts so his back is to me. Settling in on the cushion, I curl my hands over his shoulders, then I knead his muscles.
“Oh, fuck,” he moans.
“Good?”
“Great,” he rasps out.
I rub his shoulders for several minutes, and the only sounds he makes are sighs and moans.
On a deeper sigh, he says, “I should have told him sooner.”
But we’re both to blame. “I should have as well.”
“I just hope he…talks to me again,” Nick says, worry and fear texturing his voice.
I kiss the back of his head, brushing my lips against his hair. “He will,” I say, confidently.
“You think so?”
“I do,” I say, believing it with my whole heart. “You’re a good father. You raised a good man.”
He grabs my hand, pulls it to his mouth and presses a thank you kiss there.
In the morning, we eat leftovers in my kitchen. “I, too, love leftovers,” he says, then leaves for work.
40
A DECK OF CARDS
Nick
I don’t normally swing by my son’s cube when I reach the office. But normally, he’s not icing me out.
On the way to work, I pick up an egg sandwich at the bodega around the corner, hoping he hasn’t eaten. Usually, he hasn’t. In the elevator, I’m that much closer to seeing him, and my nerves fray a little more. What will it take to make this right? A sandwich isn’t enough. I know that. But what will it take? What if he cuts me out of his life? This is uncharted territory for me.
But wait…Is it?
My parents were livid when I told them I got a girl pregnant.
The night I told them, my father refused to talk to me the rest of the evening. My mother woke me in the morning with a knock on my door and an “I’m still mad at you. But get your butt out of bed.”
They weren’t happy with me for a while, but they didn’t cut me out permanently. That gives me a small modicum of reassurance. Very small.
I step off the elevator and head straight for David’s cubicle. He’s not there, so I set the sandwich down on his desk, then grab a Post-It note and a pen. What do I say, though? I’m not going to explain myself again on a sticky pad.
Instead, I opt for a simple note.
I love you. Here’s breakfast.
I turn to leave, but I stop short when I see him walking toward me.
He looks better than yesterday—less haggard, but more stoic, with his jaw set, and his gaze hard. When he nears me, I break the silence. “I got you breakfast,” I say.
I brace myself for a caustic thanks, but I already ate. But he only grumbles, “Thanks.”
And keeps on walking.
I don’t know if that’s better or worse than what I’d imagined.
Later that day, Finn ducks into my office with an expectant look. “Am I getting more tiramisu?”
I laugh humorlessly.
“I take it that’s a yes,” he says, then shuts the door and strides to the chair.
“I’ll send some tonight. Since I finally told David the truth,” I say.
Finn lifts a brow in question. “How did it go?”
“Well, he figured it out before I told him, so I’d say my brilliant plan to stop lying blew up in my face. And now, he’s not speaking to me. Which is…fair,” I admit.
“That sucks,” he says.
I hold out my hands wide. “Honestly, I feel pretty hopeless right now.”
“Why?” Finn asks, confused.
“Um, see above. My son isn’t speaking to me. I’m an asshole dad. I broke his trust.”
“I mean, yes,” he says, shrugging like that’s obvious and inevitable, “you did.”
“Thanks, Finn,” I say, and I don’t bother to hide the sarcasm. This isn’t helping.
“Well, you did break his trust. Did you expect him to suggest a double date tonight?”