Total pages in book: 112
Estimated words: 105697 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 528(@200wpm)___ 423(@250wpm)___ 352(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 105697 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 528(@200wpm)___ 423(@250wpm)___ 352(@300wpm)
She sets her feet on the ground again. “What does putting on a good PR show mean exactly?”
It’s not like I haven’t thought about it, but what that entails is more complicated yet has gotten diluted in the messaging. “It means I have to play nice.”
“And nice means? Not saying things you shouldn’t, and?”
“Be the golden boy they want me to be. Smile for the cameras. Use my son for photo ops. Be seen publicly with only one woman.”
I see her try so hard not to let the shock of my words control her, and she’s doing a decent job, but then asks, “Do you sleep with a lot of women?”
“No. But I used to.” This isn’t a topic I care to discuss, but I understand her interest. “I outgrew sowing my oats in my early thirties.”
“That late, huh?” She flashes a grin, and then it’s gone again.
“Truth?” I laugh humorlessly. “I had no reason to change.”
“Then why did you?”
“Because it wasn’t serving me anymore. I didn’t feel good, and I wasn’t happy. I wanted to be happy for my son. He watches me on TV fighting and pushing plays to the limits. When I was with him, I wanted to feel good, not fighting a hangover or bad mood, and for us to have fun because that’s how I want him to remember me.”
She sits up and gets to her feet. Coming to stand in front of me, she wedges my feet apart with the toe of her sneaker to slip into the opening. Resting her hands on my thighs, her lips are so close to mine as she eyes my mouth. The tease. It would only be a taste, so quick that I would have to savor the swift kiss. But I don’t kiss her yet. This isn’t how it should be, not with her. It should matter and have meaning, not just playing out my selfish fantasy.
“Caring about your son more than yourself . . . Now that is incredibly attractive in a man.”
Running my hands down the backs of her arms, I whisper, “Not sexy?”
“So sexy.” Her breathing jags as she takes in a staggering breath. Moving closer, and closer still, she suddenly stops, standing stick straight with her eyes widening. “Dang it. I need to answer this. Hold my place, I’ve been waiting for Mrs. Dover to call me back.”
Turning away, she grabs her phone. “Hi.” She doesn’t get another word in before plugging her free ear and then looking down as she toes the decking. “He was such a jerk.” I’m not sure if she’s aware she’s even doing it, but she starts to pace in front of me. “If you had heard him . . . I understand.” She glances at me. “He’s taken care of.” So she says . . . I smirk.
She moves toward the house and out of my vantage point. I catch random words drifting back in the wind, such as “ripping you off,” and “rude,” and my favorite, “I have it all under control.”
While she finishes her call, I walk over to Roman, who’s plonked himself in the water, and kneel beside him. “Do you like it here?”
He looks up at me. “It’s fun. I like fishing. Can we go fishing?” I’ve fished a few times in life, not enough to consider myself an expert or anything, but enough to get by. “Dolly can show you how to fish. She’s good at it.”
Though I have no regrets spending time at the cottage with Summer, I could have done without the plumber interaction. “Guess I should have joined you two. I’d like to go fishing with you, buddy.”
“We can this summer. I can show you how to attach the gummy worm to the hook.”
My head bobs forward as my eyes pop wider. “You use gummy worms?”
“Dolly says it lures ’em right in and makes the fish sweeter to eat.”
Rubbing my hand over the scruff that’s growing over my jawline, I laugh. Dolly is quite the character. “I bet it does. Hey, so, the pipes aren’t fixed.”
“Do we get to sleep at Summer’s again?”
“Is that okay? It might be a few nights.”
“I like the swing.” His little shoulders bounce up. “And she’s nice. It’s okay with me if we stay there.” He moves a rock to draw a line in the sand beneath it with a stick. “Dad?”
Picking up a stone, I throw it into the ocean. “Yes?”
When he looks up again, he says, “You told me to never compromise my values.”
“I told you that when you were little. Impressed you remember.” He nods as a sense of pride rolls through me. “Do you know what it means?”
With his brown eyes staring into mine, he replies, “It means you don’t have to play nice—”
“Well, not exact—”
“Or be liked. You just have to play your best, play fair, and know you gave it your all.”