Total pages in book: 66
Estimated words: 62641 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 313(@200wpm)___ 251(@250wpm)___ 209(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 62641 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 313(@200wpm)___ 251(@250wpm)___ 209(@300wpm)
“That’s okay.” Shade strokes my back with his little hand. “Dad says that crying can make us feel better. He says it’s okay to be sad because it will be over soon, and you’ll be happy again.”
I pull back slightly and brush at my tears before offering him a genuine smile. “He’s right. That’s very true. I’m just sad because I saw something sad, and then I started thinking about my family. I miss them sometimes.”
“But they’re not dead.”
“Oh! No. They’re not dead, no. They’re just…sometimes adults need a break from seeing and talking to each other so they can think about things. They wanted me to do something I didn’t want to do, so I had to leave for a little bit. I guess I was just feeling lonely.”
“You don’t have to be lonely. I’m your friend. And Dad is too.”
“Yes. You’re a good friend. Thank you for the hug. I really needed it.”
“Do you want another?” Shade asks solemnly.
I nod, and he throws his arms around my neck, pressing himself close to me again.
CHAPTER 16
Luke
It’s Friday night, and I can tell that Feeney has been wanting to discuss something with me for the past couple of days. I’ve been waiting for her to come out and say whatever it is because she’s not exactly someone who holds back, but she hasn’t mentioned anything so far.
Now that Shade’s in bed for the night, and I’m doing my classic blowing off steam by gaming, Feeney enters the living room. I know I don’t stand a chance in hell of winning this round while she’s standing there in my periphery all wide-eyed and bursting at the seams, waiting to talk to me, so I toss the headset onto the coffee table and shut the TV off.
That’s a pretty clear invitation to talk, and Feeney being Feeney, understands it and doesn’t waste time. She sits down hard on the couch, closer to me than I thought she would but still too far away.
That thought is errant and unwelcome—kind of. My body doesn’t think it’s unwelcome. I’m getting stiff and uncomfortable, and it’s getting to be noticeable, but there aren’t any cushions on the couch I can grab and thrust in front of my groin until my dick calms down, so I take a deep breath and think about anything except what I really want to be thinking about. It’s not easy, but thankfully, my brain and dick seem to be connected. Imagine that.
“Are you okay?”
“Do you think it’s slightly pathetic that you feel you have to ask me that?”
Feeney straightens a little, totally undaunted by my dismal tone. Not harsh. Dismal. “Not really. My mom used to ask my dad all the time. He’d give her an honest answer, and then they’d talk about it.”
“You know I’m not exactly the talking type. Christmas and the day after were a one-off.”
“Hmm.”
I have no idea what that means.
Feeney waits like she’s waiting for me to do just that, to talk to her. But I don’t and she doesn’t shake her head or roll her eyes or get pissed. Instead, she asks softly, with humor in her tone, “So, you were willing to uh…do the other stuff, but you can’t talk to me?”
My body feels like someone is holding a lit match to my skin. My dick is now approximately hard enough to chop through a redwood, a type of tree which I assume would take a lot of chopping. “That’s generally how people work.”
“Hmm. That’s generally shitty then.”
“Why are you so nice? How did you turn out that way in a sea of rich assholes?”
“I have no idea.”
“Do you realize that you are?”
“I don’t know. I guess I never actually thought about it.”
God. How can she not know just how rare a breed she is?
“If you’re having trouble with work, with the publishing…uh…I didn’t ask you many questions about it that night, but if you need anything, you know who my dad is. I could make a call.”
“No!” I moderate my voice. “No. I don’t want you to do that. That’s not…thank you. Are you both on speaking terms now?” My stomach clenches tighter than my balls at the moment, which is ridiculously tight, and my throat dries right up.
“No. But I… I could try…”
“You’d do that if I asked?”
“Yes. What…no. You probably don’t want to talk about work. And anyway, maybe I’m not so nice because the are you okay question was a lead up to my other question.”
“What’s that?” It’s a bit of a shock to me to realize I genuinely want to know and that I’m actually enjoying sitting here talking to Feeney and spending time with her.
This isn’t how Britt and I used to talk about things. Feeney isn’t a substitute for the black hole in my life, but this is different. I don’t feel guilty. I know Britt wouldn’t have wanted me to feel guilt at all. She would have wanted me to be happy. Not that I’m being happy right now with Feeney because I’m most certainly not.