Total pages in book: 79
Estimated words: 75663 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 378(@200wpm)___ 303(@250wpm)___ 252(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 75663 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 378(@200wpm)___ 303(@250wpm)___ 252(@300wpm)
So I’d gone over and had come…three…maybe four times? I had great refractory time. And now I was awake while they slept. I looked out the window. It was almost dawn, Atlanta would be waking up soon, and it was a Saturday, so I didn’t have to work. Knowing me, I could end up there regardless—there was a reason why I was so successful—but I was good at working and playing hard, and enjoyed both quite a lot.
I wondered if Greg and…fuck, I didn’t even know the other guy’s name. Had they told me, or had we not even bothered? I couldn’t remember. I wondered if they would have another round in them when they woke up, but then decided I should give my poor dick and ass a break and head home. Maybe my friend Hutch would be up for a jog today or something.
As quietly as I could, I sneaked out of bed. My clothes were strewn all over the house—bedroom, hallway, living room. Once I was dressed, I headed out to my condo in midtown.
It was quiet, lonely inside. I kept a modern style with a lot of sleek black and metals. There weren’t any personal family photos hung up or on the tables. The only thing that meant anything to me was the painting Lane had made me when he first got to New York. It was of one of his favorite spots in Central Park, with people spending their day in the sun. I didn’t know where that place in the park was because I’d never gone to see him. Dad and Helena had been out a few times, but I always had some excuse or another.
The painting was the only thing on my living room walls, right over my couch. Helena fussed over my place every time she and Dad came over. They still lived in the house where I grew up, first with Mom and Dad, then with Dad, Lane, and Helena. It was about forty-five minutes away, without traffic, outside Atlanta. Helena was such a mom, telling me I needed more photos up, or that I didn’t have enough food in the fridge. She’d always been big on cooking and eating together as a family, and despite knowing I was a single man, she couldn’t understand why I mostly had takeout.
I loved her. She was a mother to me, even if I still couldn’t make myself call her that. It wasn’t because of my own mom either, though I did still miss her like crazy all these years later. But calling Helena Mom made the relationship feel more…real, which made Lane…my brother. Which he was in the ways that mattered, in everyone’s eyes.
That was something I tried not to think about, though.
I showered the sex off me, then made coffee. I sent Hutch a text to check in. He replied that he was at work—he was an ER doctor—and that he would hit me up later.
I went into my home office and got some work done, stopping when my cell phone rang. Dad popped up on the screen, making me smile. I loved my dad, he meant the world to me, even if we didn’t often talk about important things. Not the real things, like emotions or shit like that. He did with Helena, but never had with me.
“Hey, old man,” I teased. “What’s up?”
“Nothing. Just checking in with you. You’ll go weeks without calling if your mother or I don’t.” My mother. He always called her that, and again, in matters of the heart, she was. “She’s been bugging me to get you here for a meal, but now that Lane is coming home, we figured you can’t be too busy for us.”
My heart tapped a rapid beat against my chest. Lane was coming home?
“Oh? I didn’t know he was planning a visit,” I replied, shifting in my seat. It shouldn’t bother me that he hadn’t told me. It wasn’t as if Lane had to check in with me when he wanted to go see our parents. And he probably figured Dad or Helena would make sure I was there. I could avoid going to New York to see him, but I couldn’t avoid his visits or holidays home.
The truth was, I didn’t want to. Not really.
Being in love with your stepbrother was inconvenient as fuck.
“It was a last-minute thing. He called today. He’ll be here next weekend, and…well, he’s bringing someone home.”
My pulse dropped, felt like it went skydiving without a parachute and any moment now my heart would splatter against the pavement. Of course this was bound to happen. Of course Lane would meet a woman and bring her home to meet Dad and Helena. Lane was the settling-down type. They would get married, have two well-adjusted kids, and…fucking paint and draw together as a family or some shit, because I was sure whomever he ended up with would love art like he did. Lane was always the creative one, while I was more practical.