Total pages in book: 67
Estimated words: 67144 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 336(@200wpm)___ 269(@250wpm)___ 224(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 67144 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 336(@200wpm)___ 269(@250wpm)___ 224(@300wpm)
He scoops up a handful of water and douses his face with it. I wonder if he’s even considered it.
It’s a huge potential problem, one I don’t know how to manage. I know his loyalty lies with our boss, and I would never come between them. But I don’t know where this leaves me. Where does that leave … this?
Us?
The thought of having this time with Troy and returning to how we were is unbearable. Not when I’ve seen this side of him. Not when I’ve had him like this.
“I’m not putting you on the spot,” I say. “I know this just happened, and we didn’t plan it. I don’t expect you to have all the answers because I sure as hell don’t. But I think it would behoove us to figure it out as soon as possible.”
He grins.
“What?” I ask.
“It behooves us. Who says that?”
I splash him. “Me, asshole.”
He laughs, resting his arms along the sides of the tub. “I don’t know what happens next. We’ll figure it out. I’ll talk to Ford. He may want to split us up or give me a more permanent position around the office.”
“What if he splits us up and Theo is my new guy?”
He smirks. “Theo will never be your guy. I can promise you that.”
“You’re awfully cocky, Mr. Castelli.”
“Only when I know I’m right.”
I move across the tub, planting my hands on the edge of the tub on either side of him, and kiss him. He wraps his arms around me, gripping my ass, and holds me in place.
Our mouths move effortlessly in sync.
I settle back between his legs again, my back to his front.
“So I can consider myself your girlfriend now? Is that what you’re saying?” I ask cheekily.
“You can consider yourself whatever you want as long as it means no one else gets to have you.”
“What if you decide a few days from now you aren’t into this?”
“Doll, I’ve already been into you for two years. This just sealed the deal.”
My cheeks ache from smiling. “So, boyfriend, tell me something about you.”
“What do you want to know?”
I shrug. “Something I don’t know. Something that will help me understand the enigma that is Troy Castelli.”
“An enigma, huh?”
“I don’t even know your middle name.”
“Lucas. What’s yours?”
“Penelope. It was my mom’s name.”
He kisses the top of my head. “It’s beautiful, just like you.”
I settle against him, relishing the contact.
We sit quietly for a long time, swaying in the water. A comfortable silence settles over the room.
I have so many questions for Troy Lucas Castelli. Where does he see himself in five years? What did he love to do as a child? Does he want children? But I don’t want to push my luck—and I’ve been very lucky lately.
He bends his leg, exposing his knee through the water. I grab it to sit up when I notice a curious mark on his leg. I follow the raised scar with my fingertip.
“What’s this from?” I ask. “Some kind of battle wound.”
“You could say that.”
“Is there a story behind it? Usually, guys have a legendary tale about these things. Like they found a lion or killed a shark.”
“That’s pretty accurate.”
I laugh. “I figured.”
“Only the monster was named my dad.”
I freeze, replaying that again. “Only the monster was named my dad.”
My throat tightens while my brain kicks into high gear. What does that mean?
“Well, I guess I know about your family, so you should know about mine,” he says, the words flat and hollow.
He laces our fingers together and sighs.
“You don’t have to tell me anything you don’t want to,” I say, squeezing his hand.
He sighs again, longer this time, and rests his head against the wall.
“The day my parents brought Travis home from the hospital … I was so excited,” he says. “I was five. I just got home from kindergarten. I’d walked the half mile in the pouring rain. Well, I ran the last half of it because Mom and the baby were supposed to be there, and I couldn’t wait to see them. I had this idea in my head that when they got home, everything would be better.”
I bring his arms around me and pin them to my chest. “You walked half of a mile by yourself as a five-year-old?”
“Crazy, huh?”
“I … don’t know what to say.”
“Don’t say anything yet because things did not get better,” he says with a sad laugh. “As a matter of fact, they got worse. They fought constantly. These screaming arguments that resulted in something being thrown. I was always happy when it was a lamp or picture, not Dad’s fists.”
Oh, my God.
“Of course, the screaming would wake the baby, and then he’d start crying. And the crying would set my father off about how he didn’t want fucking kids, and he’d flip furniture or throw a beer bottle across the room. I learned pretty quickly how to make a bottle and change diapers because I was scared to death that Dad was going to hurt Trav. And Trav didn’t deserve it.” He pauses, taking a deep breath. “Just like I didn’t deserve it.”