Total pages in book: 146
Estimated words: 137077 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 685(@200wpm)___ 548(@250wpm)___ 457(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 137077 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 685(@200wpm)___ 548(@250wpm)___ 457(@300wpm)
“Yes, really.”
The microwave beeps again, and she moves away from me to quiet it. I jerk her back, not finished with this moment and definitely not ready to move on to something as unimportant as hot water. She lands against me, her chest bumping mine, and I place a kiss to her lips.
“Cameron!” she whisper-shouts, her eyes jerking to the doorway behind me.
“I needed to taste that smile,” I explain. A flush of pink covers her cheeks, and I want to taste that too, but I let her carefully pull the mugs out and set them on the counter, where I drop the waiting teabags in. “Grab a blanket,” I tell her, heading out to the patio for our nightly tradition with our tea in my hands.
Outside, she spreads the blanket over both of our laps and then takes her mug from me. As she blows on the steaming liquid, she murmurs, “Are we doing naughty things under the blanket tonight?”
My cock surges in my pants. Fuck yes, I want to do naughty things everywhere with Riley. But I shift in my spot on the couch, willing my eager dick to calm the fuck down. Now is not the time, not with Grace upstairs. And not with Riley needing reassurance that this goes well beyond mere fucking.
Truthfully, I’ve come to enjoy our evenings on the patio and look forward to them all day, wanting to hear about her day, watching the sky turn black and stars come out, and slowing down in a way I don’t think I’ve done for a long, long time. I think these moments of stillness with her at my side are where I feel most thankful that I’m still alive, a concept I don’t think I’d considered a short while ago.
“You said you’re coloring your hair in the morning. I love the pink. Honestly, I hate how much I love it,” I confess, twirling a soft lock around my finger and staring at it appreciatively. “Like cotton candy I want to suffocate in.” She laughs as I press my nose into the strands and wiggle back and forth. “What color is it naturally?”
I’m not sure why I want to know. Maybe because it feels like a piece of the Riley puzzle and I want to accurately picture her through every phase of her tumultuous life.
“I don’t even know anymore.” She laughs. “When I was young, it was dirty blonde, but it’s been so many colors. Pink, black with white tips and white with black tips, every color of blue from pastel to navy, blonde, red. Don’t get too used to pink. I’ll change it at some point.”
As she lists out every color in the crayon box, I try to picture each and every one but fail. “When I met you, I thought the pink was strange. Now, I can’t imagine you any other way,” I confess. “But I think your hair could be rainbowed all over and I’d think it was perfectly Riley.”
She snuggles into my side, wiggling happily. “What else did you think about me?”
I chuckle. “That sounds like a trap.”
She peers up at me, her eyes earnest. “It’s not. Really, I’d like to know.”
I swallow thickly, amazed at how much has changed in such a short period of time. “I thought you were young, interesting looking, and your entire presence virtually shouted at me from across the room. Your hair color, the cute little fang-toothed smile, the frayed edges of your jeans puddled on your shoes, and the bracelets. Fuck, the damn bracelets drive me crazy,” I groan, teasing a fingertip over the stack on her wrist.
“So I’ve heard,” she teases with a sexy smirk. She twists her wrist back and forth, making them clink and clang, the sound virtually a song to me now. Looking at them thoughtfully, she says, “When I was younger, I survived in two ways—by being helpful and by being quiet. The helpful part I told you about, how I went from taking care of the other foster kids to taking care of kids as a nanny. The being quiet was a harder lesson to unlearn.”
She presses her lips together, but I can tell it’s not the end of her story, so I wait patiently for her to find her way back to the past she’s tried so hard to leave behind.
“One day, I met a woman with the coolest style. She was wearing bright red lipstick, thick black framed glasses, and loads of jewelry, more than I could ever dream of. I told her I liked them but asked her how she could manage being loud like that because you could literally hear her coming down the street. Like bells tinkling.” Riley smiles softly like she’s remembering the woman fondly. “She gave me this sad look and said, ‘Who told you being quiet was a good thing?’, and when I answered, ‘Everyone,’ she got so mad. She said a few choice words but mostly told me it was okay to be loud, to take up space, and to be seen. That blew my mind.” She shakes her head, and I hate that something so basic seemed beyond her at one point.