Total pages in book: 41
Estimated words: 38149 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 191(@200wpm)___ 153(@250wpm)___ 127(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 38149 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 191(@200wpm)___ 153(@250wpm)___ 127(@300wpm)
“Nope. I bought her a fake one…with lights already on it years ago. All she has to do is pop it into place and plug it in.”
I huffed in amusement. “Genius.”
“Meh, not really. Mom loves it now, but she wasn’t happy about it at first. She knew it was expensive, and in her opinion, that money was better off spent in the community. She’s in charge of buying one for the church, which has gone a long way toward making her feel less guilty about the fake tree in her living room. See, I bought it for her soon after I landed my first job in New York City. For a while, she was fond of reminding me that the tree showed up the year I didn’t come home for the holidays. A plastic tree to go with plastic promises.”
I shot a curious glance his way. “You’re here now.”
Joe scowled at the tree. “Yeah, yeah. I don’t know where that came from. I’m not in the habit of airing old family grievances or advertising my shortcomings. They tend to reveal themselves naturally anyway.”
“As far as I know, it’s not a crime to like artificial trees or spend holidays away from your family. Trust me, I know these things. I write murder mysteries and I’ve done a fuckton of research regarding criminal activity.”
The lines of tension at the corner of his mouth eased into a soft smile. “Good to know. It’s not really about the tree, though, is it? It’s about time and the slow realization that once it’s gone, you don’t get it back.”
I gave him a moment to continue. When he bent his head and hummed an old Coldplay song, I poked his side.
“Do you regret moving to New York?”
“No, not at all. It was a great job at a high-rolling firm. I couldn’t have asked for a better opportunity out of college.” Joe cast a bemused look at me. “My mom was happy for me. I was making good money and having the time of my life. The city teaches you lessons you can’t learn anywhere else. How to win, how to lose…if I have a regret, it’s that I let pride get the better of me. It’s my Achilles heel. It always has been. What’s yours?”
I frowned, too intent on getting his details to register the question at first.
“Um, well…I guess pride.”
Joe snorted as he tugged at the strand. “You can’t steal my faults. You gotta come up with your own.”
“Okay. Gee, you’ll have to give me a minute or so to think of something. Nothing comes to mind,” I joked.
“Ah, you’re Mary fucking Poppins, eh? Practically perfect in every way.”
I waggled my brows and burst into laughter when he stepped away from the tree and made a rude jack-off gesture.
“Fine. The truth is…I have more flaws than virtues. My family doesn’t like that I spend so much time alone, and my exes would agree. They’d also probably add that I’m an affection miser and that I have a habit of walking away from arguments—and relationships—when things get sticky.”
I kept my gaze on his nimble fingers tweaking the bulbs to face away from the branch.
Honestly, I was shocked by my candor. And his. I was pretty sure it was customary to inflate your positive attributes when you were hoping to lure a man into your bed—not give a laundry list of your less favorable traits. And yes…I wanted to get naked and horizontal with him. Hasty sexy times in the dark or over a desk were all well and good, but I wanted a chance to explore him. Like a research assignment.
I was busy conjuring Joe in his birthday suit and trying to decide if the apron should stay or go when he spoke up.
“Is that part of why you’re here?” he asked, adding, “to escape a clingy lover?”
That was a much easier question to answer.
“No. I don’t do clingy lovers,” I replied with a chuckle. “I think it’s more accurate to say I’ve had a series of amorous conquests rather than healthy adult relationships. My last boyfriend was a thirty-year-old gym-bunny-slash-aspiring-actor who worked part-time as a barista. I was attracted to his hot body, talented tongue, and his willingness to drop everything and—you know…”
“Sit on your dick,” he supplied matter-of-factly.
“That’s one way to put it. I was willing to overlook the obscene charges he racked up on my credit cards and his side fling with a fellow actor. But I had to pull the plug when he threw a clothing-optional party at my house in La Jolla. Without inviting me,” I added with a self-deprecating twist of my lips. “My poor housekeeper is probably still saying the rosary over that one.”
Joe chortled as he crouched low to deal with the lower branches. “Wow. You sure can pick ’em. I suppose you should be grateful your aunts didn’t walk in on that party.”