Total pages in book: 107
Estimated words: 104288 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 521(@200wpm)___ 417(@250wpm)___ 348(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 104288 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 521(@200wpm)___ 417(@250wpm)___ 348(@300wpm)
It’s the us that gets me.
That makes me get up on my knees and shove Tuck back against the seat and crush my mouth to his.
“Why”—I bite his lip—“do you”—I slip my tongue into his mouth—“have to be so fucking good?”
He grabs my hair and yanks it, baring my throat to his lips. “I’m older than you, remember? I’ve had lots of practice.” He sinks his teeth into my neck before soothing my skin with his tongue. “Now tell me how much you owe.”
I spend the night with Tuck. Again.
I come multiple times. Again.
Again, I sneak back to my apartment in the morning without Katie noticing. I shower and do some studying. It’s less painful than it usually is, maybe because I’m still floating from the great sex and better date I had with Tuck last night. Or maybe because I’ve internalized the many good reasons he laid out why I should finish my degree, and my gut is no longer at war with my head.
Whatever the case, I lean into it, and manage to bang out a paper by the time lunch rolls around.
Tuck texts me, asking if I’d like to join him and Katie for lobster rolls. I’m out the door five minutes later, drawing up short when I see a white fabric basket sitting on the staircase’s top step.
My heart flutters as I take in the basket’s contents. A packet of ginger candies, which I’ve read help with nausea. A tub of something called belly butter, along with prenatal vitamin gummies, a bath bomb, and a bag of Reese’s pumpkins.
But it’s the card I’m drawn to. A piece of green construction paper folded in half, it’s decorated on the front with princess stickers and dinosaur stamps. Reaching down, I open it and a piece of paper falls out.
Scratch that. It’s a check. It’s made out to me for an obscene amount of money and signed in Tuck’s spidery scrawl.
In the subject line: Student Loans - Paid.
I never ended up telling Tuck how much I owe. I knew what he was getting at—I had a feeling he’d do something like this—so I kept my mouth shut. Actually, I opened it and went down on him, and he seemed to forget about my loans.
Only, he didn’t. Instead, he wrote me a check for way, way more than I owe in the hopes the amount would cover it.
“You bastard.” I hold my mouth in my hand as tears fall out of my eyes left and right. “You thoughtful, generous, stupid hot bastard.”
I run down the stairs, breathless, and charge into the house. Heading up to the kitchen, I hear Katie telling Tuck she doesn’t like peas or lobster but she’ll eat the bun he gave her, and can he please put butter on it? Also, can she have a treat if she eats it all?
“No treat unless you eat your vegetables too,” Tuck replies.
My footfalls are loud on the steps. Katie gasps. “Mare! Did you get our care package? I wanted to knock on your door, but Daddy said you were doing work for school.”
“I did get the care package!” I cross the kitchen to wrap Katie in a hug. She clings to me like a baby monkey, so I lift her onto my hip and kiss both her cheeks. “Thank you very much. I loved it. Well, most of it.”
Katie frowns. “Mare, why are you crying? Is you not feeling well?”
“Because—”
“Because she just accepted a very special present from a very special friend.” Tuck casually wipes his hands on a towel like he didn’t just write me a six-figure check. He’s wearing shorts and a T-shirt that’s molded to his thick chest and biceps. “Isn’t that right, Maren?”
“We need to talk, Tuck.”
“I like presents.” Katie toys with my necklaces. “Can I have yours if you don’t want it?”
I laugh, even as the tears continue. “Here, you eat your peas so you can have a treat, okay? I’m going to talk to your daddy for a second.”
“But I don’t like peas,” she wails as I set her down. “They’re not warm.”
“Yes, Katie, they are. Now sit down at the table, or you’re going in time out.” Tuck’s tone is firm but not loud. He really is a patient man. I have a lot to learn from him.
Something I don’t want from him? Money.
Katie, of course, just digs in her heels. “I won’t eat them.”
“That’s one,” Tuck says.
“Daddy, no!”
“Two.”
“Daddy—”
“It’s time for lunch, Katie.” I pick her back up and set her in her chair, sliding it forward so she can reach her plate. “Which means we sit at the table and try to eat. I’ll set the timer, okay?”
She sniffles. “Okay. But only two minutes. Is that a deal?”
“Deal.” Tuck heads off to the side of the kitchen by the pantry.
I follow and hold up the check. “I’m not taking this,” I whisper.