Total pages in book: 103
Estimated words: 100628 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 503(@200wpm)___ 403(@250wpm)___ 335(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 100628 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 503(@200wpm)___ 403(@250wpm)___ 335(@300wpm)
When I’d realized that I was obsessing over this guy Nova was going on a date with, I’d said fuck it and set up my own date. I’d gone home with a woman named Taylor, fucked her hard, which she’d seemed to like, and then I’d left after she’d passed out.
I’d been bored the entire fucking time, pun intended, and that pissed me off. Sex had never been boring before. I’d had mediocre sex plenty of times, but I’d never been bored.
I was jealous of guys Nova was hooking up with and bored with the women I was hooking up with, and I still rejected the idea that having sex with Nova was going to be a problem.
I refused to acknowledge how absolutely fucked I was and told myself that everything would be fine.
Chapter 6
Nova
I had no memory of the drive from the garage to the craft store. I’d been too busy replaying every memory of how Rumi had touched me. By the time I got to work, I had to sit in my car for a few minutes deliberately not thinking about what Rumi’s hands could do. My stomach was in knots as I waved hello to my manager and went to the break room to store my backpack and coat. I was letting thoughts of Rumi take over which was exactly what I couldn’t let happen.
We were friends. It shouldn’t matter if I hadn’t spoken to him for a few days. It shouldn’t matter that I wouldn’t see him all week. He’d still be there when we both had time and that should be enough for me but somehow it wasn’t anymore.
The day dragged by and by the time I got home that night I was as exhausted as I’d anticipated, in a bad mood, and kicking myself for not telling Rumi that I’d stop by his house on my way home. I could’ve just stayed the night at his house like I’d done a hundred times before, but for some reason, that felt weird now. I knew if I went to Rumi’s we’d end up in bed together and sleeping at his place after that was too intimate or something. It wasn’t the same.
“Hey, Bossanova,” Pop called out quietly as I let myself into the house. “How was work?”
“Long,” I replied with a laugh, hanging up my coat. “What are you doing up?”
“Just finishin’ this show,” he said, pointing to the paused TV with his remote. “Nana’s in the tub.”
“Lucky,” I murmured, walking over to sit next to him on the couch. “I’d love a bath. I wish we had a hot tub.”
“Hot tub would be real nice,” he agreed, nodding as he wrapped his arm around my shoulders and gave me a squeeze. “You wanna watch this with me for a while?”
I was tired and my whole body hurt, but I leaned into him anyway, resting my head on his shoulder. I used to hang with Pop a lot, but lately I’d been working so much that I hadn’t had the time. “Sure.”
He kissed my head and started the show again. I was able to figure out that it was about some kind of car restoration, but within minutes I’d completely passed out on his shoulder. I didn’t wake up again until morning when my phone alarm started going off in my back pocket.
“Rise and shine loser,” Bird sang. When I opened my eyes, his face was within inches of mine.
“What the hell are you doing?” I groaned.
“Gross,” he barked, jerking backward. “Your breath is foul!”
“I just woke up, asshole.” I reached out to smack him but missed.
“You better get up and shower. You look like crap.”
“Thanks, Firebird. You’re a joy, as always.” I sat up and stretched. At some point during the night, I must have gotten comfortable because most of Nana’s throw pillows were on the ground.
“Covered you up,” Pop said as he came out of the hallway. “But you made the mess.”
“I figured,” I mumbled, folding up the afghan he’d covered me with.
“You were out.” He headed to the kitchen to fill the same travel coffee mug that he’d used for as long as I could remember.
“I don’t even remember falling asleep,” I told him as I picked up all the pillows and threw them on the couch.
“It didn’t take ya long,” he replied with a chuckle. “And I’m gettin’ too old to carry ya into bed, so I left ya there.”
“Yeah, right.” I smiled. “You could still carry me.”
“I don’t know,” Bird said thoughtfully as he packed his book bag at the kitchen table. “He is pretty old.”
I laughed as Pop threw a towel at Bird’s head.
“I could still whoop you, boy,” Pop growled.
“When have you ever whooped me?” Bird asked laughingly, dodging as Pop reached for him. “This hypothesis has never been tested!”