Total pages in book: 70
Estimated words: 67095 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 335(@200wpm)___ 268(@250wpm)___ 224(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 67095 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 335(@200wpm)___ 268(@250wpm)___ 224(@300wpm)
“Mac!” I turn my head when I hear my name. I smile at Antonio when he comes over to greet me with a hug.
“Hey, how are things?” I ask when he lets me go.
“I’m guessing you didn’t hear?” he says, taking a seat across from me.
I notice the exhaustion and worry in his eyes, which puts me on guard. “Hear what?”
“My dad had a heart attack.”
“What?” My heart splits open just thinking about Tony—happy, smiling Tony—in the hospital.
“Yeah.” He runs a hand through his hair. “He had to have surgery, and he’s been in the hospital for a couple days now. They are getting ready to move him to a nursing home to recover and get physical therapy.”
“Oh my god.” I reach over and take his hand. “I’m so sorry. I had no idea.”
“Mom’s a mess, which is probably why she didn’t tell you. She’s been staying with him as much as she can and working here when she’s not.”
“What can I do to help?” I ask immediately.
He smiles softly, and I realize then just how good-looking he is. He’s so not my type—my type seems to be just Wesley—but he is attractive. Why didn’t I see that before?
“Do you know how to make pizza?” He laughs, but I can tell he’s serious.
“I don’t, but I can learn. Libby can also help out.”
“Libby the never-a-hair-out-of-place, high-heel-wearing princess?” He snorts.
I narrow my eyes at him. “You’d be surprised. She’s a hard worker, and she worked at the pizza place by our house when she was in high school,” I say to defend her, but he shakes his head.
“No, thanks.” He waves the idea away.
I want to ask him why not, but I don’t have a chance. A shadow envelops our table, and I tip my head back to find Wesley looking down at us—or more like glowering down at the man across from me.
“Can I help you?” Antonio asks.
Wesley’s jaw shifts.
“Ant, this is my . . .”
“Boyfriend.” He sticks out a hand toward Antonio. “Wesley.”
“Oh?” Antonio looks from Wesley to me. “Seems like we both have news.”
“Um . . .” I look up at Wesley, half wanting to kick him and half wanting to tear off his clothes. I don’t know how he is able to make me feel so conflicted.
“Nice to meet you.” Antonio stands and shakes his hand. “Keep an eye on her—she’s a wild card. I think it has something to do with the red hair.” He smirks, and Wesley grunts something I can’t make out before Antonio leans over to kiss my cheek. “I’m happy for you, kid. It’s about damn time.”
“Thanks, I think,” I mumble as he laughs and walks away.
Sensing Wesley slide into the booth, I keep my eyes off him. I’m not sure what to say.
“How many other men are you friends with?”
“Pardon?” I look at him, slightly appalled at his question.
He sits forward. “Edward. Antonio. Who else is there?”
“Is that a question you really want me to answer?” I ask only because he already looks annoyed.
“I’m guessing by that response my answer is going to be no.”
“I’ve always had more male friends than female.” I shrug.
“Why?”
“I find men to be more easygoing. I don’t have to worry about what they are thinking, or that they’ll talk about me behind my back. It’s simple with men. Give them a beer and a game and they’re happy. Women are a whole different world.”
“Have you ever had a relationship with any of your male friends?” he asks, making me squirm in my seat. “Is that a yes?”
“No, I . . . I had a crush on one of them, but nothing ever happened.”
“Who?”
“I’m not telling you.”
“Who?” he repeats quietly.
“You’re really annoying,” I huff out.
His eyes narrow. “That’s not an answer.”
“Edward.” I roll my eyes. “Are you happy now? I had a crush on him, but he never even knew about it. He never saw me as anything more than a friend. Really, I don’t know what I saw in him to begin with.”
“The guy from today? Your next appointment?” He sits back in the seat, crossing his arms over his chest.
“Yeah.”
“Jesus,” he curses.
I look up to find him rubbing his forehead. “What?”
“You touched him,” he growls.
I feel my brows pull together. “What?”
“You touched him. You gave him a massage after me.”
“Yeah, he’s my client,” I agree, wondering where he’s going with this.
He shakes his head and grumbles, “Not anymore.”
“Pardon?”
“He can’t be your client anymore,” he states, sitting forward and getting as close as he can with the table between us.
“Are you insane?” I hiss, pointing at him. “First of all, you do not ever get to tell me what to do. Second, you are a jerk for even thinking that I would be anything less than professional with the men and women I have as clients.”
“I wasn’t saying that.”