Total pages in book: 74
Estimated words: 70264 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 351(@200wpm)___ 281(@250wpm)___ 234(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 70264 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 351(@200wpm)___ 281(@250wpm)___ 234(@300wpm)
She shoots me a watery smile. “You are a good man,” she whispers. I want to tell her I’m not. Not really. I’ve done things in my life that would make her run in the opposite direction. Had too many women. Used them for what I wanted. Mindy’s right about some things. I don’t deserve sweet Taylor. Not really. I look just like my daddy. Inherited his womanizing ways. Inherited his smooth tongue, too. Sometimes, I fear that I inherited his temper, although I try hard to keep it tamed. Getting too close to a woman, letting her under my skin, is something I’ve avoided. The fear that love will turn to hate and violence always lingers. Apples never fall far from the tree.
But for now, Taylor is mine because of Jesse, and I’m going to make sure she doesn’t regret it.
“Come on. Let’s get you something sweet, and then we’ll hit the drugstore. You can pick out anything you like.”
8
TAYLOR
SWEPT UNDER THE RUG
Tears still burn the back of my throat as I gulp back my emotion. Maverick leads me back down the street. We buy three different types of candy and chocolate and then head to the drugstore as promised. He encourages me to choose shampoo and conditioner, and not cheap brands. He drifts past the cosmetics and nods in the direction of the makeup. “I’m not saying you need it, but if you want it, you should have it.”
His smile is kind and warm, but Mindy’s words still echo around my head. She called me plain. Is that what Maverick thinks, too? Is that why he’s encouraging me to buy lipstick, so I can look more like that awful woman?
I’ve always wanted to try makeup, but I never had the money to waste on frivolous things, and my father would have mocked me for wearing it.
Now, Mindy’s stolen the desire.
The doubt I feel about my own attractiveness rests heavily beneath my ribs.
When I shake my head, Maverick raises his brows. “You still listening to Mindy’s shit?” he asks.
I can’t answer because admitting it makes me pathetic and denying it makes me a liar.
“How about some of this?” He pulls out a small pot of apricot-colored lip gloss. It says it’s scented with vanilla. “You’ll smell like muffins.”
A little watery laugh bursts from me, and I press my hand over my lips to keep myself contained.
“And this?” He picks up a pot of moisturizer with rose petals on the top.
My eyes drift to the section with a rainbow of colored eyeshadow and blush. They have about twenty different mascaras. I’ve always wondered what I’d look like with darker eyelashes. Mine fade to fair at the tips. I reach out for a dark brown mascara and Maverick seems pleased.
On our way to pay, I realize I’m going to need some stuff for when I get my period. As mortifying as it is to gather pads and tampons, it would be more mortifying to be unprepared.
Maverick takes everything to the counter, and all I can do is watch while he pays. His broad shoulders stretch out the back of his shirt, and his waist tapers into his jeans, which reveal thick thighs and a toned ass. No wonder a woman like Mindy is hungry for him. Knowing he’s been with women like that makes me cross my arms across my chest and curl my shoulders. I’m not good enough for him. Even with all the mascara in the world, I’m not going to be what he really wants.
This is all just convenience to him, to all of them.
It’s a convenience for me, too, though. I have a full stomach and an even fuller wardrobe. I have a husband and two other men who are treating me with kindness. This isn’t a fairytale love story, but it’s more than I could have hoped for, more than I really deserve.
As we leave the store, Mindy walks along the sidewalk in front of us. She switches her hips seductively, flicking her blonde hair over her shoulder, and I shiver with the rush of hatred and envy I feel toward her. They’re not nice emotions, but I can’t help it.
Maverick moves closer to me, putting his arm over my shoulder. I’m stiff as a plank of wood in his embrace, but he doesn’t pull away.
When we’re at the truck, he opens the door for me and then climbs inside himself. I turn to look out of the window, not wanting him to see the tears that have returned.
As the engine comes to life, I fiddle with the hem of my shirt.
Maverick’s warm hand settles on my thigh, not in a sexual way but more like a steady comfort to help take some of the pain away. The gesture is too much, and my throat catches in a rough, strangled noise.