Total pages in book: 62
Estimated words: 59120 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 296(@200wpm)___ 236(@250wpm)___ 197(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 59120 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 296(@200wpm)___ 236(@250wpm)___ 197(@300wpm)
“Well, after Gran died, Mom didn’t really want to stay in the house, so she got herself a new place and helped me out, too. Reagan and I got the shittiest little apartment in the city, but we love it. I purchased it, so I have to figure out what to do with it now. Then, I got a job at a law firm, nothing crazy, but it was good, you know? Not that the city life is truly for me, I mean, I haven’t missed it at all.”
“Sounds like you,” he murmurs. His hand is tracing lazy circles on my knee.
“It wasn’t always great, though. After...you, I don’t know. Something never just felt quite right.”
He squeezes my hand. “You date anyone?” he says, his voice hesitant.
I snort. “Reagan kept trying to set me up with all the desperados from her office. I tried. Didn’t really take. There was one guy, but he just, well....”
“Wasn’t me,” Travis says, and there’s a smug little curl to his mouth.
I elbow him, but it’s gentle. “Basically, yeah. What about you?”
He looks out the window, and just stares. He stays quiet so long I start to wonder if maybe I don’t want to know after all.
“I tried to go there,” he says finally. “But it never went any further than one-night stands, even if she was nice, I just couldn’t let myself open up to anyone. I was a fucking shell of myself.”
I swallow, and stare out the window now, too.
There would have been a lot of girls.
I know Travis, and it is one way he copes.
It hurts, I can’t deny it. Imagining him with all those beautiful women, just fucking a different one each night.
He notices my expression, and takes my chin, turning my face towards his. “There was only ever you, Mischief. There will only ever be you. No one else could ever compare.”
My heart melts a little.
There’s a knock, the lightest tap on the door. A nurse steps in—maybe twenty, pretty in a “my skin rejects all sunlight” sort of way—grins at us. “Hey, sorry to interrupt, but it’s time for group therapy, Travis.”
Travis’s arms tighten around me. “Yuck, time to go talk about feelings.”
I laugh, climbing off his lap. “Don’t talk about me too much.”
He laughs.
The nurse smiles, blushing every single time her eyes swing in his direction. I’m quite certain he’s popular in here.
“Go be an inspiration,” I tell him, and he tips his head back like he’s considering it.
“Are you coming tomorrow?”
“Every day,” I say. “Even if you get sick of me.”
He presses a kiss to my lips. “There isn’t a world where I would ever get sick of you.”
I leave with a smile on my face.
Maybe the next few weeks won’t fix everything. But for the first time in a long time, it feels like we have a place to start.
9
“Fuck, where did I leave my keys?” Travis mutters, rifling through papers on the kitchen island and kicking an empty chair aside.
It has been a week since he got out of rehab, and though most days are better, he still has bad ones. Which is understandable, to be honest. He had to leap straight back into life, and believe me, it didn’t stop for anyone. I perch on the counter, hands in my lap, watching him blow off steam. This is the only way I can help. He’ll snap out of it soon.
“Where are they, Mischief?” he mutters, eyes swinging to me.
“No clue.”
“Well, Jesus, you could help!” He rakes a hand through his hair.
I raise an eyebrow. “Listen, grumpy—doesn’t matter how rough you feel, you don’t speak to me like that or so help me God, I will throw down.”
He softens and mutters, “Not grumpy.”
“You’re totally grumpy.”
He steps toward me, tilts my chin up, then shifts me so he can stand between my thighs. I wrap my legs around his waist, pulling him close, sliding my butt toward the edge of the counter until I press myself against him.
“Sorry, baby,” he breathes, “I don’t mean to be an asshat.”
I snort. “Asshat. That’s a new one. I’ll write it down.”
“Forgive me?”
“That depends.”
“On?”
“How good you make me feel before work.”
He grins, lips brushing mine. “You drive me crazy, but I’ve gotta go—I’m late.”
“You’re the boss.”
“Good point.” He slides his arms around me. “Come with me. I could use your help today.”
I grin. “With your work, or your cock?”
He growls, nipping my ear. “Both.”
“I’m on it.”
I push him away, hop off the counter, and dash upstairs to change. I’ve been staying at his place most nights, checking on him, but I still stay with Chief, too. I don’t want to rush too quickly into things. When I’m ready, I find him out front, standing by his bike, strapping on his helmet. “You set?”
I smooth my jeans and tug at my sandals. “Let’s roll.”