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)
“You’re now implying that I’m crazy? A job makes most people that way, darling.”
I know he doesn’t mean anything by it, but hearing even sarcastic endearments does something to me. “Oh, I know full well that most of them are soul-sucking machines, but not all.”
“You want me to be a regular mindless one of the masses,” he states.
“You’re overthinking that a little. I mean a job or a hobby you enjoy. I’m sure there’s one out there. It has to be better than just hanging out here all day.”
“I do have a job. It’s untangling all this money and turning it into something I can actually use.”
I lose myself in his lovely, dark eyes. “I think there are lawyers and accountants for that.”
“It takes up more of my time than you’d think.”
“Alright, a hobby then.”
He snorts. “I’d rather lick tarantulas every day than make pottery.”
“Tongue bathing. Awesome.” I laugh. I want to trace the little scar on his neck right above his shirt collar with my tongue. “So what if you hate pottery? There are other things in the world. If you miss parts of your old life, just go to the gun range or something. You could teach shooting. Or self-defense. I bet you have lots of skills that other people would like to learn.”
“Or I could just join a security and bodyguarding firm.”
“Well, if that’s what you truly want to do. But I think not having to go to work worried about taking a punch or catching a bullet every day would be a good thing.” I can’t even think about him doing those things. It makes my stomach lurch and my chest feel heavy and rocky.
“Vigilante justice then?”
“No,” I reply.
“You should do what you know.”
“Is that what you know? Vigilante justice?”
“I suppose that was a tad sarcastic,” he says with a light chuckle.
“You could raise geese,” I suggest.
“Gah! I’m in the city. And I know nothing about raising animals.”
I can’t help it. I have to kiss his jaw. “You don’t have to live in the city. And you can do research. Ooh! Maybe you can do research, raise geese, and vlog so other people can raise them too! That’s exciting!”
He quirks a brow. “Do I seem like I’m the popular vlogger type?”
I nuzzle my nose right by his ear, inhaling the goodness of him. “You could be anything, I’m sure.”
“I’m not five years old. I’ve already lived most of my life.”
“Pshaw to that!” I jerk my head up. He’s got his usual I’m so bored with life, and I find nothing interesting, ever mask in place, but it’s starting to get frayed and worn pretty thin. It’s starting to be just a little bit see-through. “You’re probably ten years older than me if that. I’m not even going to tell you not to say it because some people don’t get to live out their lives, and they are actually over. That would sound like guilt, and this isn’t guilt. This is supposed to be finding your stride and learning what it takes to make your soul sing.”
“Some souls don’t sing,” he argues.
“At least you didn’t say some people don’t have souls.”
“Some souls are too dirty to—”
“Dirt! Yes!” If we have to talk about that, then I have a great idea. “You should go to school and study dirt. Apparently, it’s super fascinating. All the stuff that goes on in soil! It’s an entire world and a science in its own right. You’re a little bit obsessed, so it might be just what you’re looking for.”
He rolls his eyes. There’s no undoing it, though. I’m not going to let him undo it. “Perhaps that was a tad bit sarcastic as well.”
“Maybe, but I do think it would be so neat. You could learn how bacteria really work. Worms, ants, and centipedes too.”
“Aspen,” he groans.
“Yes! And trees and plants. Geez, now I kind of want to go back to school and take microbiology or ecology or whatever it would be under.”
“I’m not going to go to school to study soil.”
“You could just join a gardening club then.”
He looks like he’s just seen a ten-foot-tall spider coming toward the house, and no, he doesn’t want to tongue-bath it. “Have you forgotten that I hate gardens enough to let the one outside die out?”
“That’s just because it belonged to a farty old man who chose money and power and position over you. He was clearly wrong in that. Clearly. I don’t agree with taking it out on the garden, but cleaning out the house and starting fresh? It’s probably a good thing not to have so many bad memories picking away at you.”
“Aspen.”
“What?”
“This conversation is over,” he says resolutely.
“Oh, so it’s like that, is it?” I respond.
“Yeah, it’s like that.” He points to the window, and excuse or not, I now remember there’s a world out there. “Those poor pool people out there have probably been done for ages, and they’re just too polite to come banging down the door.”