Total pages in book: 108
Estimated words: 106538 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 533(@200wpm)___ 426(@250wpm)___ 355(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 106538 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 533(@200wpm)___ 426(@250wpm)___ 355(@300wpm)
I want to kiss her. I’ve wanted to kiss her since our date.
“But maybe I can get good at it,” I say.
She tightens her brow. “Good at what? Sneaking around?”
The more my grin swells, the more her eyes narrow.
“Yeah. Do you want to sneak around with me?”
“I’m not fourteen, Ozzy.” She rolls her eyes and pivots, continuing down the trail.
“No. But wasn’t fourteen fun? I loved my teen years. Not a real care in the world. Hormones raging out of control. Weekends were two days of nonstop shenanigans with friends. And there was nothing more exhilarating than sneaking around.”
Maren chuckles, shakes her head, and alternates her gait between cautious steps and a slow jog while she navigates the dips and bumps of the descent. “That’s not real anymore. You actually have real cares in the world.”
“Not twenty-four seven. I found time to wrangle chickens with you.”
“I don’t buy it. You were the one who said we should take it slow because your life is complicated. And I was fine with it, but slow shouldn’t mean you can’t even send me the occasional text.”
“I didn’t want to lead you on or give you false hope.”
She shoots me a quick glance over her shoulder. “But now you want to sneak around? When did you change your mind?”
“Literally the second the words left my mouth,” I say while scratching the back of my head and trying not to smile until I’m sure she won’t kill me for downplaying my inability to date a woman properly.
“You gave me flowers and notes,” she says.
“Is that wrong? Or weird? It probably seems cheap since I’m not buying the flowers. But—”
Maren turns 180 degrees, and I almost run into her. “Wrong? Weird? Cheap?” She narrows her eyes. “Ozzy, I tied twine around the stems, dried them upside down to keep them indefinitely, and attached the note to the bouquet too. Then I waited for you to call or text me.”
I smirk. “You liked the flowers.”
Maren rolls her eyes and heads the rest of the way down the trail.
I should have called.
By the time we reach the steps at the parking lot, Lola has a kitten in her arms.
“Whose is that?” I ask, catching up to Maren and passing her to deal with Lola and her googly eyes.
“No one’s. It’s all alone. I found him by that bush, crying.”
“What have I told you about touching stray animals?”
“He’s a kitten, Dad.”
“Lola, put it down. I’m sure its mom will be looking for it.”
Maren pets the cat in Lola’s arms, not helping my case.
“Dad, I bet his mom is dead, and that’s why he’s all alone. If we don’t take him home, he will die.”
Ouch. This girl packs an emotional punch. “It’s called life, Lola. And how do you know he’s a he?”
“How do you know you’re a he?” She rolls her eyes.
Maren tries to suppress her laugh.
“We’re not taking it home,” I say.
“Why not?”
“Because.”
“Because why? And don’t say because you said so. Remember when you promised to always explain things to me?”
When I look to Maren for help, she curls her lips between her teeth and shrugs. In the next breath, she tries to find an excuse. “Lola, what if your grandparents are allergic to cats?”
I silently commend Maren for trying, but that’s not the right defense.
“They aren’t,” Lola says. “They used to have cats. A lot of them. Right, Dad?”
“Lola. We don’t have a car.”
“Put him in your backpack,” Lola says.
“He’ll suffocate.”
She frowns, sad eyes on the kitten before gazing at Maren.
“I bet he finds a good home.” Maren nods with reassurance.
Lola nestles the cat in the bush and mumbles, “I bet something eats him before tomorrow.”
I don’t touch this conversation with another word. She’s relinquishing the cat, and that’s a win, even if I know she’ll give me the cold shoulder for the next few days.
“It was nice meeting you, Lola,” Maren says, sliding her key fob from her pocket.
Lola manages a lukewarm “You too” before sulking toward our bikes.
I walk down the stairs next to Maren and take several steps with her toward her RAV, keeping my back to Lola. “Can I call you later?”
Maren grunts, unlocking her car. “I don’t know, Ozzy. Can you?”
“Let me rephrase. What are you doing later? Want to sneak out with me? Grab a drink at a bar?”
With her chin tucked, she opens her door. “You’re all talk, Ozzy. But sure. I’ll sneak out with you if you call. But I won’t wait up for you.”
“I’ll check in with you at”—I glance at my watch—“nineteen hundred.”
She giggles, shakes her head, and slides into the driver’s seat.
“Later.” I shut her door and tap twice on the window with my flat hand.
She finally glances in my direction, biting her lower lip.
I have no clue what I’m doing or where this is going.
Chapter Eleven