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)
“It’s true. I met her at a concert. I was behind her in line for a . . .”
Beer.
I smile. “A snack. When she reached into her purse, her wallet was missing. She freaked out, so I paid for her food and helped her find her wallet, which took forever. By the time we found it, the concert was half-over. She felt terrible that I missed the show but grateful we retrieved her wallet.”
“Where was it?” Lola asks.
“Under her car. It must have fallen out when she opened the door.”
“Then what happened?” Lola can’t help her smile and the sparkle of curiosity in her eyes.
“She offered to buy me dinner instead of watching the rest of the concert.” I take a bite of steak and smirk while chewing it. “Your mom fell in love with me pretty quickly.”
Lola whips her head in the direction of Amos and Tia. “Is that true?”
They share a knowing glance and a rare smile. Most of the time, talking about Brynn only reignites their anger toward me—mainly Tia’s.
“It’s true,” Tia concedes. “Your mom called me late that night to tell me she met the man she was going to marry.”
Lola’s eyes bug out. “Really?”
Tia shrugs and stabs her fork into her salad. “Really. Of course, I thought she was out of her mind.”
There it is, the little jab.
“So you need to go to a concert, Dad.”
We laugh.
“We’ll see. I’m working now. I don’t have a lot of extra time to go to concerts. When I get off work, I only want to be with you.”
It’s like Lola stopped listening the second she made her concert comment. That look on her face says she’s already scheming. I don’t understand the sudden change. How did she go from asking me every day if I missed her mom to matchmaking with any available woman in Missoula?
Chapter Three
Maren
“Reagan wants your phone number. Can I give it to him?” Will, my roommate, asks while I sit at the counter and tear into my Chinese takeout.
“Remind me who Reagan is?”
Will turns off the faucet after the sink is half-filled with soapy dishwater. “The new guy across the street who owns chickens.”
I pause the chopsticks at my lips, lo mein noodles dangling from them while the mixed aroma of garlic and oyster sauce wafts up my nose. “Isn’t he my dad’s age?”
“No. He’s forty-seven. He just hasn’t aged well. What are you? Forty? Forty-one?”
I’m thirty-three, and he knows it. “When I’m done eating, I’m going to shove these chopsticks up your ass, William Landry.”
With his chin down, he smirks and scrubs the frying pan. Will is the stereotypical male firefighter centerfold, tall with thick sandy-blond hair, countable abs, and a strong jaw. Like an ornery child, he has a sparkle in his blue eyes. It’s punctuated with a tiny mole below his left eye. However, he’s hell bent on keeping that ’80s mustache, and he takes tai chi (which our other roommate calls ballet). So he’s sexy with a few footnotes.
“He’s a lot younger than Professor Gray Balls,” Will says, rinsing the pan while shooting me a glance, eyebrows waggling.
Ted Gracey is my dad’s best friend. He owns a lot of the farmland around my parents’ property. Ted’s a semiretired professor of environmental physics. He travels all over the world to conferences. He’s brilliant, sought after, and almost eighty-four. When it’s not fire season, I transport him in his private jet to conferences. He doesn’t have a wife or kids, and his sister died six months ago, so Will and our other roommate, Fitz, think I’m going to inherit everything when he dies.
I’m not.
“You know what would be funny?” I point my chopsticks at Will. “If he did leave me everything, I could afford to buy you a woman. Everyone knows the only way someone will stay with you is if it’s their job.”
He scoffs. “That’s harsh. How can you say that?”
“Because no woman wants to be with a guy who would rather play video games than have sex.”
“I have plenty of sex.” He flicks water and suds at me.
I cringe with a scrunched nose while inspecting my food for soap bubbles. “Masturbating to female avatars doesn’t count.”
“When you shit all over my chosen bachelor’s life, do you ever stop to look in the mirror or at your left hand? Where’s your wedding ring? Who keeps you warm at night? Nobody. But I know a guy who owns four chickens who’d love to spoon you until his rooster crows in the morning. Shit!” He smacks his forehead with his fist. “I just flubbed the perfect cock joke.”
“I’m going to kill that cock,” I grumble.
Will drains the sink. “That makes two of us. It’s a loud son of a bitch.”
“Actually, if you want to know a little secret, I think a mechanic at work is interested in me.”