Total pages in book: 135
Estimated words: 134706 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 674(@200wpm)___ 539(@250wpm)___ 449(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 134706 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 674(@200wpm)___ 539(@250wpm)___ 449(@300wpm)
He’s leaning his arm on the steering wheel and looking over at her while they chat.
He’s not gay. No way in hell would he be looking at her like that if he were gay.
Damn Fletcher’s gaydar is off, way off.
Get the fuck out of his car, Claire.
Right.
Now.
Don’t fucking push me.
She climbs out of the car and closes the door . . . no kiss.
I dive back onto the couch and put a sleeping Patrick’s legs back over mine.
Moments later, the door opens, and Claire walks in and around the corner. Then her face falls when she sees me. “Tristan.”
My anger is bubbling dangerously close to the surface, and I glare at her, unable to hide it.
She looks down at Patrick sprawled all over me, asleep. “What are you doing here?”
She seems pissed. Well, she’s got nothing on me. I’m fucking fuming. “I babysat for you tonight. I believe you owe me a thank-you,” I say through gritted teeth.
“What?” she snaps.
“Fletcher had to go out.”
“To where?”
“That VanDerCamp girl that he likes texted him, and I said I would stay with Patrick. Fletcher is home now, though, asleep in bed. He wasn’t gone for long at all. I’m assuming the date didn’t go well.”
“Are you kidding me? He left you here alone with Patrick?” she whispers angrily. “Oh, Fletcher is in so much trouble you wouldn’t believe.”
“I told him to go,” I reply. “I don’t mind. Do you mind telling me who the fuck Pilates Paul is?”
“None of your business.” She gestures to the door. “Now . . . good night.”
“Well, that’s not a very nice way to treat your babysitter, is it?”
Her mouth falls open. “You are not my babysitter,” she whispers. “You’re a pain in my ass.”
“Me?” I scoff as I point to my chest. “What did I do?”
“You annoy me,” she snaps as she storms into the kitchen.
I carefully move Patrick and then jump up and follow her. “And why do I annoy you?”
“Go back to your carefree dates, Tristan. Stay the hell away from my kids.”
Oh . . . this is about me dating other women.
She opens the refrigerator with force and then pulls out the nearly empty wine bottle and holds it up. Her eyes flicker with rage.
“It was nice . . . actually. Went with the pizza and all that.”
She looks at me deadpan. “You drank my wine?”
“Don’t change the subject. Why does me dating other women annoy you?”
“It doesn’t,” she snaps angrily. “I don’t have time for your shit tonight. Go home.”
I put my hands onto my hips. “I can’t drive. I’ve been drinking.”
“My wine,” she growls.
I cross my arms and look her up and down with a smile. “You’re in a very bad mood. Am I right in assuming Paul from Pilates is responsible?”
“No, you’re not, actually. Tristan Miles is responsible.” She storms out of the room.
My mouth falls open. Of all the nerve. I rush in behind her. She goes to Patrick on the couch. She bends to pick him up in her arms.
“I’ll do it.”
“No.” She slaps me out of the way. “I don’t want you anywhere near my devil children.”
“Oh.” I roll my eyes as she struggles to pick Patrick up. “This is about what I said about the wizard.”
“His name is Harry, and yes, I do take offense to some pompous, spoiled asshole telling me that my children are misbehaved when he knows nothing about what they have been through,” she whispers angrily. “Get out of my way,” she says as she struggles with Patrick’s weight.
I step to the side. “You’re especially bitchy tonight.”
She brushes past me and walks upstairs, and I follow her.
“What are you doing?” she whispers.
“Following you. What does it look like?”
“I swear to God, Tristan, I’m going to push you down the stairs in a moment. Go home.”
“I see where they get it, Claire.”
She turns back to me. “Get what?”
“This violent streak you have is very unbecoming.”
She stops where she is and walks back down a step toward me, and I shrink back from her. “Tristan.”
“Yes, Claire.”
“Shut your mouth.”
“Or what?”
“Or I’m going to shut it for you.”
“Violent,” I mouth as I follow her upstairs and watch from the doorway as she lays Patrick down in bed and takes his shoes off. She brushes his hair back from his forehead and kisses him good night. She then turns the light off, and we walk back out into the hallway.
“Where’s your bedroom?” I ask.
“A place that you’ll never get to. Go downstairs.”
I roll my eyes. “I don’t want to go there anyway, Claire.”
Her eyes hold mine. “Good.”
“Yes, good,” I blurt back. “We’re over, remember?”
“Exactly, so why bother coming here?”
We stare at each other, and that feeling comes over me, the one where I want to push her up against the wall and kiss her senseless.
Her eyes drop to my lips, and I know she can feel it too.