Total pages in book: 77
Estimated words: 72853 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 364(@200wpm)___ 291(@250wpm)___ 243(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 72853 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 364(@200wpm)___ 291(@250wpm)___ 243(@300wpm)
I’ve been all over the place all night, my brain rapid fire firing off endless shit in every which way. It’s not cool. It’s not fun. If I could shut it down, I would.
Sleep. Yeah, that’s not going to happen.
I’m still sitting here as the sky slowly lightened. And then past that. I’m still sitting here when I hear Aspen get up, hear the shower crank on, and hear her soft footsteps going downstairs. I’m still sitting here, listening as she hums downstairs in the kitchen. She’s making breakfast, and she’s going to try and feed me.
Shower.
I need a shower and a fresh set of clothes. I need to convince her that I’m fine, even if I only look like it, and the rest of me is my usual grumpy grunts.
I do both, and by the time I’m done, I almost look human. I spin around in the mirror and check for bruising on my ass. There aren’t any marks. No fingerprints on my butt cheeks and nothing across my stomach, where I slammed against the railing.
I tug my jeans on and pull my shirt down.
On the stairs, I nearly run straight into Aspen. She smiles up at me like she’s just swallowed the sun, and it’s emitting straight out of her body. I’ve never seen anyone look that good at any time of day. Her eyes are so soft and blue. And the rest of her is equally soft. Golden. Shiny. Beautiful. She smells like honey and fried bananas.
“Oh! I was just coming to get you. Breakfast is ready.”
In the kitchen, I find that I’m hungry, which is a surprise and a mystery every time it happens. The past years of my life didn’t include regular meals, and they were always very industrial. No, that’s not right. We didn’t eat nuts and bolts. They were just meant to fill a void and give enough nutrition. Sometimes, they were good, but they never smelled like this.
“I made crepes.” There’s that glowing sunshine smile again.
She passes me a plate with at least eight rolled-up crepes topped with real whipped cream that she made fresh, fried bananas, a drizzle of melted chocolate sauce, and ribbons of maple syrup. My stomach growls, the acids tingling long after the noise it makes.
We sit down at the table that I can’t wait to get rid of. It’s modern and angular, and the chairs are made of chrome. They’re industrial. I’d rather eat off the floor.
I wolf two crepes down, which I basically inhale without being able to stop myself because they’re undeniably a mouth orgasm if I’ve ever had a mouth orgasm before. And I haven’t, at least not until I met Aspen, which sounds straight-up wrong, so I need to think of another word. The word delicious does her food no justice.
“I want you to tell me about Jace,” she suddenly says.
I swallow half of the third crepe completely wrong but get it down without choking or coughing. I didn’t make coffee, so now I don’t have a drink. I force myself to breathe shallowly, sucking in air so I can keep my regular neutral expression in place.
“You know about your brother,” I reply.
“I know you can’t tell me much, but…” She shifts, crossing her legs.
Today, she has on black leggings and a T-shirt that looks vintage with an old rat rod car on the front made crinkly by age and washing. I don’t notice anything about her clothes, the way they fit, or how she somehow makes wearing a T-shirt look like an art form. I don’t notice her curves or anything else. I don’t because I force myself not to. It clearly doesn’t even register in my brain. Yeah. Clearly.
“Can you tell me the things you are allowed to talk about?” she adds.
Nope. I’m not going to fall into the trap of those blue eyes getting all liquid and huge and imploring me. I’m not going to get sucked in. I’m not.
“Like what?”
Fuck.
“Like what you guys did in your downtime. You had to have fun sometimes when you weren’t always working. Or was life just constantly shitty and dangerous? Did you ever go to a place you liked? A country? Did you laugh together?” She smears a chunk of banana in chocolate and puts it in her mouth. Slowly.
For the love of bananas, I’m rock hard under the table from watching her eat, and then her tongue sweeps out and gathers a smear of chocolate off her bottom lip.
“Yeah, we laughed. Your brother was a good poker player. He always looked so soft and nice, and he never seemed to take it seriously, but then bam! He could bluff the pants off anyone, and when he needed a decent hand, he always got one. We did that sometimes in our downtime.” The way her glow gets brighter and her eyes get shinier makes me want to keep going. It makes me want to pull out more. More memories we can share together. Things she doesn’t know about.