Total pages in book: 80
Estimated words: 76381 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 382(@200wpm)___ 306(@250wpm)___ 255(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 76381 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 382(@200wpm)___ 306(@250wpm)___ 255(@300wpm)
“That worrying about them shit, that never goes away, huh?”
“I think about her marrying and having kids and a stable life and still stress myself out worrying about her not getting enough sleep or eating right or all the shit I went through when I was a new mom.”
“Difference being, she’ll always have you.”
“Yeah,” she said, but there was a sad look in her hazel eyes.
“What?” I asked.
To that, she sighed. “I kind of wish I’d been able to give Daphne more of a support system than I did. She has me, always. And Britney and Sam will, of course, be there for her if she needs them. But… that’s all I could give her.”
“Think you’re more than enough, but I get what you’re saying. I’m not in touch with my family, save for my sister. But my found family in the club is my real family now. There’s something to be said for knowing you have this massive group of people to rely on if you need them. Perish hasn’t needed to lift a finger since he got shot. Someone is always doting on him.”
The conversation shifted more to the club then. To the kinds of connections there were. The club as a whole, of course, then the wives, the kids, the smaller groups of closer friends. Like Nave with Voss. Like me with Sully. There were always some groups who clicked more. But when push came to shove, you had everyone to fall back on if you needed them.
Then, well, the cookies were done and there was no more talking, just fucking devouring those goddamn things as Daph prattled on about how much baking Sabrina did for Christmas, and that I had to be around to try it all.
“She’s really pushing for us, huh?” I asked as Daph took a small plate of cookies back to her room. Where she claimed she planned to stay until the morning. With the TV on.
That damn kid. She was a trip.
“What? Oh, uhm,” Sabrina said, wide-eyed, like she was worried I would be upset about that fact.
“It’s sweet how much she wants to see you happy,” I added.
“She’s a good kid,” Sabrina agreed. “But it’s not like I’m expecting… or that her wanting us to… it’s new…”
“Hey, take a breath,” I said, reaching to grab her hips and pull her up to my chair. “Way I see it, there is an us. I get that it’s new. And neither of us can say what’s gonna happen a month or year from now. But, for now, I like what we got going on.”
That had the tension sliding out of her shoulders.
“I like it too,” she agreed, reaching up to rest her forearms on my shoulders, then pressing a soft kiss to my lips. “How about you… not sleep on the couch tonight?”
CHAPTER EIGHTEEN
Sabrina
It felt so weird to invite a man into my room, into my bed.
Part of that was because I had my kid across the hall. But, as Daphne kept reminding me, she was practically grown up now. So it was silly to feel weird about having a, er, partner.
The other part was simply because I’d never had a man in my room, in my bed. Well, okay. I’d totally snuck a boyfriend or two into my bedroom as a teen. But that was, at its core, a ‘fuck you’ to my father more so than actually wanting to share my bed with someone.
This felt very big. And I tried really hard not to make it feel like it felt like a big deal.
Callow took his turn in the bathroom after me, giving a few moments to toss the clothes I’d stripped out of the other day and hadn’t picked up into the hamper. And toss the peanut butter cup wrappers on my nightstand into the trash. And, well, make sure Mr. Good Vibrations was at the back of the second nightstand drawer where it wouldn’t be super obvious.
Satisfied, I turned on the TV to muffle any possible… noises. Then quickly stripped out of my after-work clothes and into the cutest pajama set I had—a silky navy blue short and tank top set. No bra. Sexy panties. Or, well, what passed for ‘sexy’ in my wardrobe. Which meant it had a little lace around the edges and a sweet little bow at the center.
Callow tapped his knuckles lightly on the door even though I’d left it ajar.
“Double-checked the locks, camera, and the door alarms,” he told me as he moved inside, but didn’t close the door.
He was changed into a pair of lightweight blue pajama bottoms and a white tee that was all wrinkled from his duffle bag. In his hand was his little brown leather toiletry bag.
“Thank you,” I said, moving toward him to push the door closed. Then slide the lock.