Total pages in book: 167
Estimated words: 164557 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 823(@200wpm)___ 658(@250wpm)___ 549(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 164557 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 823(@200wpm)___ 658(@250wpm)___ 549(@300wpm)
“Charlotte, listen, I know exactly what you’re feeling, okay? You liked it too much.”
Her mouth falls open. “Don’t flatter yourself.”
“You liked it too much, and it scared you, right? Because it goes against what ‘normal’ sex is supposed to be like.”
“It does go against it.” She rubs the bridge of her nose. “At least in the long term. It’s fun for one night, Will. But making it a regular thing feels…I don’t know…sleazy.”
A prickly sensation travels along my skin. “Yeah? What does that make me then? I’m sleazy?”
Shocked, she meets my eyes. “No. Not at all.”
I laugh without humor. “Look. Charlotte. I used to feel the same way you did. I basically avoided Beckett all summer because I felt that way. But I realized, after a lot of introspection, that there’s nothing wrong with liking what I like.”
“Will—”
“So if you truly believe what you’re saying, then…” I shrug at her. “Then you’re right. It’s better that we don’t see you again. I can’t speak for Beck, but society is judgmental enough as it is. I don’t need the girl I’m seeing to also be judging how we pass our time. Do you want me to delete your number?”
She looks stricken, as if she didn’t expect me to say any of that. “No. You’re welcome to text me anything school related.”
“Got it.” I take a step to leave. “See you tomorrow in the lab.”
The Mexican restaurant in town is quieter than usual despite the lunch rush, a small mercy considering the whirlwind of thoughts in my head. When I walk in, I instantly spot my stepmother at a table in the corner. Like Tessa Diaz, she stands out like a sore thumb in small-town Massachusetts. She’s DC from head to toe in an elegant black pantsuit, her ash-blond hair twisted into a perfect updo.
But though she looks like she belongs on a congressman’s arm, she also possesses a warmth that most of those DC bloodsuckers lack.
Her face lights up at the sight of me. “Hi, honey. It’s good to see you.”
She stands to give me a hug, and I don’t have to bend far to kiss her cheek. Kelsey is nearly six feet tall, only a couple inches shorter than me.
“Hi, Kelse. You look great.”
“Thanks, kiddo. Come. Let’s sit.” She takes my hand and guides me to a chair. “I’m so glad you were able to take a break from your chaotic schedule to meet me.”
“Hey, I should be thanking you. You’re the one who drove down here from Boston.”
“I know, but I’ve made this offer a dozen times, and it’s nearly impossible to get you to take me up on it.” Her pale green eyes twinkle to let me know she’s teasing.
She’s right. I rarely accept her lunch invitations, but that’s because whenever she’s in town, my dad is usually with her. Like me and Dad, she was born and raised in Boston. She visits her parents often and asks to see me every time, and the reminder triggers a pang of guilt as I remember all the times I’ve turned her down.
The truth is, I love Kelsey. She’s brilliant. Gorgeous. Successful. Funnier than she looks. A woman like her is wasted on my father.
I think my father is incapable of genuine connections. Relationships are strategic for him, based on status rather than mutual affection. He rarely lets anyone see beyond his carefully constructed exterior.
“You know how it is with hockey,” I say with an awkward shrug. “It’s a grueling schedule.”
She smiles knowingly. “And this is the first time all year that I’m in Boston without your father.”
Busted.
When the waitress arrives, we both order coffee. Kelsey asks for more time with the menu and waits until the woman is gone before giving me a concerned look.
“Alessia says you haven’t responded to any of your dad’s emails about Christmas.”
“You mean Alessia’s emails about Christmas? Because they’re sent from her email address.”
My stepmother sighs. “Maybe so, but the invitation comes from him. He really wants you to come home this year and stay longer than a night.” She flicks up one eyebrow. She’s one of those blonds with dark brows, emphasizing her striking features. “And don’t tell me your schedule won’t allow it, because Alessia checked, and your team has a full week’s break during the holiday.”
“You don’t have to guilt me,” I say, rolling my eyes. “I was already planning on it. Just haven’t had time to email back.”
“Good. I’m glad. It’ll be nice having you home.”
We pick up our menus, placing our orders when the waitress returns with two cups of coffee.
“Maybe you and your dad could do something fun one of the days you’re home,” Kelsey suggests. “Breakfast at the waffle house? Go find a pool hall?”
I can’t help but laugh. “The waffle house, I get. It’s prime photo-op territory. But a pool hall? Why? Is he trying to capture a new target voter demo or something?”