Total pages in book: 91
Estimated words: 89978 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 450(@200wpm)___ 360(@250wpm)___ 300(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 89978 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 450(@200wpm)___ 360(@250wpm)___ 300(@300wpm)
I shake my head. “Herb wouldn’t approve of oral.”
Koen’s nose crinkles with his sour face. “Please don’t say my grandfather’s name in the same sentence as oral.”
“Then make a better case for naughtiness.”
“I’ll watch you shower.”
“My bathroom’s the size of a shoebox. I can barely watch myself shower.”
His lips twist to the side for a moment. I admire his determination.
“Touch yourself.”
After a few slow blinks, I tap the tip of my finger to my nose, arm, and knee.
His mask slips, but just barely. He hides his amusement behind a clenched jaw, but his lips twitch.
My gaze slides down his torso as he unbuttons his jeans. “What are you doing?”
“I’m going to show you how it’s done.”
“I don’t have a penis, and you don’t have a vagina or clit. How can you possibly show me how it’s done?”
“Scottie,” he buttons his jeans and straightens his shirt. “You’re the worst at being bad.”
I eat up his frustration, one eye roll and tiny sigh at a time.
“Let’s take your mom to dinner. I can see if Price will work tonight.”
“My mom?”
“Yes. The woman who, I assume, gave birth to you. The one you call every day. My future mother-in-law.”
Koen sits at my table, inspecting the current puzzle. He grins when one of the pieces fits.
“In my next life, I’m returning as a puzzle, so you’ll give me your undivided attention.” I pass him on my way to the shower.
He hooks an arm around my waist, pulling me onto his lap. “I think it’s time you trust Price with the store so we can fly to Philly.”
“Really?” I lean the side of my head against his.
“Really.”
“And dinner with your mom?”
“I’ll call her while you’re in the shower.”
“Okay.” I sigh, melting into him a little more.
He hugs me for several seconds before clearing his throat. “Are you ready to talk about the other day?”
“I can’t.”
He stiffens. “Why?”
“Because it’s too hard. It’s too much.”
“Scottie—”
“I’m begging you to let it go.”
“Well, I'm begging you to let me in.”
“If you love me—”
“No. Don’t put conditions on my love for you. I can’t do this. I won’t do this.” He lifts me off his lap and stands.
“Can’t do what?”
“Any of this.” He snaps his finger and points for Scrot to follow him to the door.
“What? Wait a minute.” I shake my head. “Literally, two minutes ago, you were going to invite your mom to dinner with us. And now you can’t do any of this? Any of what? Dinner? Meet my parents? Marry me?”
Koen holds out his hands in mock surrender. “You were visibly upset the other day. And when I asked you to tell me what was wrong, you begged me to drop it for that day. So I did. And when I went with you to close up the store, the tension between you and Price was palpable. But I didn’t push you. I offered you my open arms and simply held the quiet space with you. But it’s no longer that day.”
I don’t know what to say. And his shoulders sag a little more with my enduring silence.
“I need to talk to Price,” I whisper.
With a grunted laugh, Koen opens the door. “I can’t be the fucking third wheel in your relationship with him. I’m sorry.”
“Koen—”
The door clicks shut, and he doesn’t glance back. With tight fists and a determined stride, he leaves me to flounder in the mess I’ve made.
CHAPTER TWENTY-SIX
COMPASSION IS FEARLESS … AND SOMETIMES RECKLESS.
I don’t hear from Koen for the rest of the day. After closing the store, I head straight to Price’s. No surprise, the lights are off. I contemplate waiting until tomorrow, but this can’t wait.
It takes him forever to answer the door. He’s no longer orange; he’s pale with squinted, bloodshot eyes. Tonight, he looks unwell.
He doesn’t greet me or wait for me to enter before he stumbles back to the bedroom.
“What can I do?” I ask, following him with my heart in my throat.
“Go home,” he mumbles, collapsing onto the bed and rolling into a ball on his side.
I had a long spiel ready for him, but now I can barely breathe watching him suffer. Words aren’t an option.
“Go … home …” he whispers.
I crawl in bed, resting one hand on his back while my other strokes his hair. After his breathing evens out, I find the courage to speak. “Why do you love me?” I whisper, but not to him. I think—I hope—he’s asleep. “It’s been twelve years. I know why I still love you, but I don’t know why you still love me.” I close my eyes.
An hour or so later, just as I drift off to sleep, Price’s body jerks. He sits up with a grimace and flies out of bed, reaching for the wall and then the door as he stumbles into the bathroom and vomits.