Total pages in book: 70
Estimated words: 67733 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 339(@200wpm)___ 271(@250wpm)___ 226(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 67733 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 339(@200wpm)___ 271(@250wpm)___ 226(@300wpm)
“You’d be wearing a helluva lot more than my last name if you were mine,” I mindlessly declare.
Some sort of surprised breath, whimper combination floods my ear spurring me to smile wider.
Stand straighter.
How is it I’m in so deep, and we’ve barely spoken in this capacity? How is it words like that flow so freely? They sound like well-rehearsed and crafted lines, but that couldn’t farther from the truth. I’ve been with my fair share of females – probably more than I should admit – and never felt the need to lead them on with false promises of a tomorrow I had no intention on being in. Now is no different. These things that appear to be said simply to lure her in are so much more than that.
They’re like vows being delivered long before her hand has my ring and her stomach my child.
They shouldn’t be said.
Not quite yet.
Not before I’ve even convinced her to see me as more than the man who simply refills her water glass.
And yet here I am spewing them without reluctance.
Without regret.
“You sounded out of breath when you answered,” the subject segue is somewhat forced yet necessary to reconstruct the conversation that took an unplanned direction. “What were you doing?”
“Um…,” Harper hums in hesitation, “promise not to laugh?”
“I can promise to try not to.”
“I was working out.”
“Why would that be funny?”
“Because I was doing a boyband workout video on YouTube.”
Laughter tips my head back as I release the sound to the sky.
Damn Gabby for being right.
“I don’t feel you tried at all,” Harper playfully scolds. “Like there wasn’t even a pause before you started fucking laughing.”
More chuckles freely fall.
“You’re breaking promises already, which does not bode well for the future, babe.”
“I like that you called me babe.” My grin stretches wide until it reaches ear to ear. “Almost as much as I like knowing there’s a future here.” Before she can backpedal away from where we are, I ask, “Brunch?”
“Do you mean lunch?” she sassily counters. “It’s almost one.”
Disbelief I slept in that long has me bashfully conceding, “Alright. Lunch?”
“Not today.”
The rejection hurts more than I’m prepared to admit.
“Shift starts at two.”
“Oh,” hope makes a sudden appearance in my tone, “this isn’t about not wanting to meet me then?”
“No,” Harper quickly replies. “No, no, no. This is about me having to be at work for my twelve-hour shift when I’m scheduled.”
“That’s good.” Thoughtlessly retorting happens again. “That’s really good.”
“Dinner?” She suggests in her own optimistic voice. “I mean, making concrete dinner plans on duty is kind of impossible since I could get called away to transport at any minute; however, I can make flexible plans, which probably isn’t the most enticing, but-”
“Coño, is it enticing,” I possessively growl as though verbally yanking her closer. “Just this fucking phone call is the shite I wish upon the stars for.” Shoving my receipt holding hand into my sweatpants pocket is followed by a heavy sigh. “Unfortunately, I can’t do dinner. I’m working tonight, too.”
“Right…”
Her disappointment is so tangible it creates an undeniable ache in my chest.
“Some other time I guess.”
My mouth moves to say something thoughtful or smooth or even romantic but only manages to meekly agree, “I’d like that.”
An uncomfortable, somber pause occurs prior to Harper politely stating, “Have a good day, Tate.”
“You as well.”
And just like that gone are my spoils.
Gone is the extra sunlight shining down on me.
One moment I have the whole world literally in the palm of my hand and the next I’m not so certain that it’ll ever turn again.
I want to see her.
I need to.
Anxiousness has my fingers acting before my mind has fully developed a plan. This time there’s only one ring between us and even that seems excessive.
“Yeah?” Harper happily answers as if she had been hoping I’d immediately call back.
“Breakfast?” Giving the back of my neck a nervous scratch is done while haphazardly conjuring a plan. “I get off around twelve thirty and back from the bar a little before your shift ends. I could meet you at your place or have you come over to mine. Make you breakfast.” The new idea places a bit of confidence back in my speech. “I know my way around the kitchen as much as the table.”
She sweetly giggles, a sound that’s so feminine and soft and innocent that it has me wanting to reach through the phone and hold her in my arms. “Okay.”
Excitement darts into my expression. “As in yes?”
“Yeah, we can do breakfast at my place. I’m off at two, but I’ll be home around 2:20, 2:30. I don’t go back in until noon. If that’s good with you, I’ll text you my address.”
“Text away.”
Images of her smiling at the statement appear in my mind, fueling the urge to need to see it.
Her.
“Any allergies?” I casually inquire, warm summer wind wrapping around me. “Or foods you would rather I avoid?”