Total pages in book: 87
Estimated words: 86158 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 431(@200wpm)___ 345(@250wpm)___ 287(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 86158 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 431(@200wpm)___ 345(@250wpm)___ 287(@300wpm)
“My gram made tons of quilts, alright? And when we got them out of my parents’ house they were split between the grandkids and great grandkids. I got three. One is on my bed, one is folded up in my closet, and this is one. It’s mine and I say you can use it on this kick-ass bed.”
“I appreciate it,” I said quietly. “But if I fuck it up—”
Charlie cut me off, shoving my shoulder gently. “Then every time I take it out I’ll remember that time I let Beauregard Augustus Bishop borrow it. These quilts were made to be used. Loved.”
I sighed, knowing I was fighting a losing battle.
“They were made to make you feel at home,” Charlie said, giving me a soft smile. “And I never met my gram, but from everything I’ve heard, I have a feeling she’d insist you use it.”
“You’re nicer than everyone thinks you are,” I muttered, making her gasp dramatically and backhand my shoulder.
“Everyone loves me,” she argued, laughing. She looked around the room. “It looks good in here. Hey, is that your mom?”
“Yeah,” I replied as she climbed off the bed and picked up the photo.
“She looks just like you.”
“I know.”
“What was her name?”
“Jenny,” I said, clearing my throat. It was weird, but I couldn’t remember the last time I’d told someone my mom’s name.
“Jenny and her sunshine boy,” Charlie murmured softly. “Look how sweet you were.”
“I grew out of it,” I joked, trying to lighten the conversation.
“Nah,” she glanced at me. “Still sweet as sugar.” She set down the frame and picked up the other, giggling at the photo of me and Uncle Beau.
“Look at you two in your straight-guy-holds-fish pose.”
“Our what?” I asked with a confused laugh.
“Yeah, you know?” She posed, standing straight, her chest pressed forward and a big grin on her face, one hand held in a fist at shoulder height like she was showing off a fish.
“Shit,” I said, understanding exactly what she meant.
“He looks like a guy you’d want to have a beer with,” she said, accurately describing Uncle Beau. She looked up at me. “And he looks so proud of you.”
“About thirty minutes before the picture was taken, he’d been swearing like a sailor and calling me a dumbass because I’d caught my hook in his t-shirt,” I said dryly. “I almost gave him an unintentional nipple piercing. I think the pride came and went.”
Charlie laughed. “Ooh, bad form. I don’t think I’ve ever caught someone with a hook.”
“You fish?” I asked in surprise. I honestly couldn’t imagine Charlie sitting still long enough for her to go fishing.
“I have,” she said. “With my uncles, mostly. You couldn’t tell by looking at him, but my dad isn’t really the fishing type. He grew up in Southern California and went to prep schools and all that.”
I imagined Casper at a prep school and choked.
“Yeah,” Charlie said, grinning as she set the photo back down. “He even went to Yale.”
“No shit?”
“No shit. He’s crazy smart, did it all on scholarship.”
“How the fuck did he end up in the Aces?” I asked curiously.
“That’s a story for a different day,” Charlie said dryly. “And not mine to tell, anyway. You should ask him about it some time.”
“Yeah, I doubt I’ll be asking your dad about his backstory,” I replied, making her snicker.
“You might want to get to know him a little better first,” she agreed, wrinkling her nose. “Okay, well I think you’re all set now, so I think I’m going to go straighten up my room and watch some TV.”
“Thanks again, Charlie,” I replied.
She ran her hand over the quilt absentmindedly, tracing her fingers over the stitching. After a moment, she looked at me, her eyes soft.
“Welcome home, Beauregard Augustus Bishop.”
Chapter 7
Charlie
We settled into a new routine with Bishop in the house, and I liked it. His schedule was much more set in stone than mine was, and he didn’t seem to go out much, so I always knew when he’d be home which secretly thrilled me. Evenings became my favorite time of day, and though our activities were pretty fucking tame for people our age, I wouldn’t have had it any other way. We all ate dinner together during the week, had Reb over to play poker and board games, and watched TV shows that we all promised not to continue unless everyone was present. Bishop and I usually ended up in my room at the end of the night, hanging out after Kara and Draco had gone to bed. On the weekends when I wasn’t working, Bishop would sometimes go for a run with me and Kara. When she left us in the dust because the girl couldn’t do a leisurely run if there was a gun to her head, we would talk the entire time about everything and nothing.