Total pages in book: 81
Estimated words: 77124 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 386(@200wpm)___ 308(@250wpm)___ 257(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 77124 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 386(@200wpm)___ 308(@250wpm)___ 257(@300wpm)
“Oh, heaven forbid!” she teased, then exhaled hard. “I worry sometimes that by never dating again after your father passed that you may have developed an unhealthy sort of hyper-independence.”
“This isn’t your fault,” I said, always quick to defend her. She’d busted her ass to raise my brother and me without any help.
“I should have worked harder to have positive male influences in your life. Maybe you would have grown to trust men more.”
“It’s not that,” I said. “I do trust him,” I admitted. It was true. I knew he would have my back. I believed he wouldn’t intentionally try to hurt me. If for no other reason than his mother would beat him with a spoon for it.
“It’s okay to want people in your life, Saylor. It’s healthy. You’re not supposed to go through life alone.”
“I’m not alone.”
“Yes, you have me. But it’s different. You know it is. Let me ask you something…”
“Okay,” I said, sucking in a deep breath as I leaned against the bathroom door.
“If you and Anthony got more involved… what is it you’re afraid might happen?”
That question stopped me cold.
Because I honestly had no idea.
I just knew that when things felt too good with him, something within me said to panic, to run, to put my walls back up. I never stopped to ask why.
“I don’t know,” I admitted.
“Is it because you’re worried about losing someone again?” she asked.
“I don’t know. Maybe.” Even just the mention of it had my belly twisting into knots.
“Honey, I feel like it’s my place to remind you that the fear of loss is not a good enough reason not to love.”
“Who said anything about love?” I asked.
“Saylor…”
“As someone who has lost many of the loves in her life,” my mother went on, “I have to tell you that the grief is proof of how much love there was, that there still is. And believe me, having that love is not something I would ever take back. I would still do it all over again. All that happiness was worth every tear I had to cry at the loss. Just keep that in mind, okay?”
“Okay,” I agreed, mind flashing back to how good it had felt to be held by Anthony before my anxiety about the situation kicked in and stole that joy. Even standing alone in the bathroom, a part of me ached to feel that comfort again.
“Okay,” she agreed. “And, hey, if all it is is sex, enjoy that too. You work too hard.”
“Thanks, Mom,” I said, shaking my head.
“Anytime. Tell Anthony I said hi.”
“I will,” I agreed.
“Love you.”
“Love you too.”
As I hung up, I realized how true her words had to be. No matter how much it would hurt to lose my mom, no matter how much it had hurt to lose my brother, all the years of happiness before made the potential and actual grief worth it.
If I was scared of the future loss, all I was doing was robbing myself of the present joy.
And that felt like a really chickenshit kind of thing to do.
With that in mind, I made my way back out into the studio, glancing over at the couch before making my way toward the bed, climbing in slowly, trying not to touch or wake Anthony up.
But he was already awake.
And he rolled over to curl up behind me, his legs cocked under mine, his arm across my chest, caging me in, but I didn’t feel trapped; I felt safe.
“Who were you talking to?”
I should have known the sound would carry.
“My mom,” I told him. “She said hi.”
“You know you don’t have to hide in the bathroom to take a phone call.”
“I didn’t want to wake you up,” I said, closing my eyes, enjoying the feel of him just being close without any expectation of more.
“Is everything alright with her?” he asked.
“Yeah, she was just calling to check in. We usually see each other most days when I go to the gym to workout. But when I don’t, she always calls. She worries.”
“Understandably. My ma worries too.”
“Because of your job, or because you are constantly hurting yourself?” I teased.
Which was the wrong move.
Because Anthony Costa wasn’t opposed to using tickling as retribution.
I writhed and laughed and gasped for breath as he ran his fingers over tickle spots across my stomach until I was suddenly flat on my back looking up at him.
“You’ll pay for that,” I warned.
“Yeah? What are you gonna do? Beat me up?” he asked, leaning over me.
“Nope. I just won’t save you from your next calamity,” I declared, making a smile tug at his lips.
“Figure I’ll be pretty safe if we just stay in bed,” he said, lowering down to press his lips into my neck, making a little flutter move across my chest.
“You could always fall off,” I said even as my hands started to slide up his strong, bare back while his lips created little sparks of interest.