Total pages in book: 58
Estimated words: 55271 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 276(@200wpm)___ 221(@250wpm)___ 184(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 55271 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 276(@200wpm)___ 221(@250wpm)___ 184(@300wpm)
“I really hope you have a jar of pickles or pickle juice in your fridge.” Tulsa walks in, still in my shirt I tossed her last night once we got to my bedroom. No way was she staying home by herself last night. It didn’t even cross my mind to drive her back to her place. Truthfully, Tulsa is right where she belongs.
“There’re pickles. Not as many as what you have and probably not your favorite. Mom brought those over the last time we had dinner here.” She opens the door. My white shirt on her body hides nothing with the light shining from the refrigerator, showing me her curves.
“Butterfly.” I hiss out a breath. Thankfully, I’m sitting down, and it’s a damn good thing, too, or I’d be right behind her, lifting the shirt that’s already baring the bottom of her ass, an ass I just had my hands on not ten minutes ago.
“Oh, my goodness, your mother is a saint. She the likes the good ones.” She lifts the jar to her mouth and takes a few sips from it, grimacing after each pull. Montgomery told me the way she eats pickles and has no problem drinking the juice after a long track meet to recover her muscles, she’d be a champ after a night of drinking when she went off to college. He wasn’t wrong about that.
“The only saint in this room is me. How I’ve managed to keep my hands to myself is more than proof.” Her back is to me, arched in a way a man wants her when he’s taking her from behind, pulling on her hair while thrusting deep inside her wet heat. I take another sip of coffee, needing the caffeine to keep me awake. Tulsa slept from the early evening until only a bit ago. Since it’s almost noon, I’d say she must have needed the sleep. I didn’t think it was possible for someone to sleep damn near sixteen hours, yet she did. The last time I went up to check on her and saw she was awake, I knew it was time for us to have the talk we’re about to have.
“Alright, did I just hear that correctly?” Tulsa turns around, jar of pickles still in one hand, the lid in the other, her curls twirling right along with her. The difference in yesterday’s Tulsa and today’s, she’s more undone—her hair is down, and she’s in a shapeless shirt, whereas when I picked her up from Hank’s, it was the complete opposite. The tank is discarded in my bathroom, along with the tight-fitting jean shorts that cupped her ass like a glove. I much prefer the semi-naked state she was in my bed.
“You did. Get your pretty ass over here. We have shit to talk about.” I scoot the barstool back, showing her where I’d like her to be.
“Nope, I’ll stand right here.” She takes another sip of the pickle juice before putting the jar on the counter, replacing the lid, and allowing the island to keep us separated. “Who’s going first? Because I have a lot of questions, and I’m hoping I’ll finally get the answers I deserve.”
“Go ahead,” I tell her, hoping like hell she remembers what she had on her mind last night.
“Okay, I’ll broach the giant elephant in the room. Your phone number. I couldn’t even apologize. I mean, seriously the shit I spewed at you wasn’t okay.” She starts pacing back in forth. Her headache must be dull if she’s able move like she is now.
“It wasn’t, but you were grieving. I never held a grudge against you. When that went down, it was a perfect storm. The company was changing shit around, and I knew you’d keep calling or texting.” My phone rings on the counter. I ignore the noise since I told Chase I’d be out again today, not even bothering with calling the office to tell Ella. I’ll only answer if it’s important. The display on my phone tells me all I need to know.
“Huh, isn’t that convenient. If the roles were reversed and my number wasn’t working, what would you do?” she asks. My phone stops ringing only to start back up again.
“Ignore it. I am. The only important thing in my life is standing right in front of me.”
“I’m finding that hard to believe, Ledger. You sent me away. I was too ashamed to call your mother, was ripped away from everyone I loved all because of a stupid piece of paper.” She is getting pissed. My phone ringing continuously isn’t helping matters either.
“Let me answer this to make sure the fucking office isn’t burning down, and then I’m all yours.” She nods and spins around, giving me her back, and moves back to the refrigerator to put the pickles away and probably help herself to whatever else to soak up the alcohol.