Total pages in book: 135
Estimated words: 128430 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 642(@200wpm)___ 514(@250wpm)___ 428(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 128430 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 642(@200wpm)___ 514(@250wpm)___ 428(@300wpm)
I pick up the plate with her burger. “The couch or the bed? Where do you want to eat?”
“The chair by the fire.”
Taking a glass of water from the cart, she also grabs a miniature ketchup bottle and leads me to the chair. When she’s settled, I hand her the plate and a rolled napkin wrapped around silverware.
I start eating on the couch. I don’t know why the silence is unnerving this time, but I can sense the change that’s come over her. On the surface, she’s curled up eating a burger by the fire. But her eyes give her away, and the distant gaze and measured blinks have me needing to find out what’s going on. I wait, though. I think she needs to eat before we dive into something heavier.
Transfixed on the flickering flames, she gets lost in her head, and I let her, knowing I’ll follow her anywhere, even into the recesses of her memories to protect her.
When I take my last bite and set the plate aside, I drink water to clear my throat, then set it on the coaster beside me. “Story?” I try to sound casual, but my own thoughts are spinning to fill in the answers I don’t have yet.
Her eyes find me, and, at that moment, sadness has shrouded the gold centers. I fucking hate whoever caused this woman any pain. I ask, “What happened?”
I don’t ask more. She knows. She knows exactly what I mean. Sitting with her food discarded after eating only half, she sets the plate on the coffee table, and says, “I’ve never told anyone before.”
“Then we’ll go slow and start from the beginning.”
20
Cooper
“I’ve always had a bad picker,” she says as if I’ll know what she’s talking about.
“A what?”
“A bad picker is my radar for attraction, like I always pick the wrong guy for me, a bad judge of character. There could be a lineup of nine kind, intelligent, and successful men, and I’d pick the tenth. The worse, the better in so many cases.” She hunkers down in the large, cushioned chair, dragging a small pillow from her back to hold to her chest. “It was an inherited trait. My mom had the worst taste in men. I just didn’t recognize the pattern until I was removed from the situation.”
“Should I be offended?” I grin, and fortunately, so does she, the levity welcome. I want her to feel safe and protected, and for her past not to weigh her down. It’s not something I can fix, but if I can help her get there, I’ll do whatever I can.
“No,” she says with a soft laugh. “You’re the change I purposely made.”
If she only knew about my past, she might not be saying that. But I can’t pretend it’s not music to my ears. Who knew I’d be considered one of the good guys?
She continues, “In high school, I never met a bad boy I didn’t like. The funny thing is, I was such a good girl.”
“Isn’t that what bad boys want? The good girls.”
“You’re probably right.” She smiles to herself while running her fingertips aimlessly over the top of the pillow and leaving designs in the velvet material. “I had straight A’s and was treasurer of the photography club, if you can believe it.”
“I can believe it. Well, I have no idea about the treasury part, but the pictures you sent me have a unique perspective on life.”
She snuggles her legs to her chest with the pillow squashed between the two. “Thanks. I find the mundane, the overlooked, or abandoned so interesting through a lens. Even if it’s just my phone lens.”
“You don’t have a camera?”
“It’s not been something I considered a necessity.” She perks up. “If I have any money left after buying books in a few weeks, maybe some of the tip you left can go toward saving for one.”
Some might consider it strange that she’s keeping the money, especially now that we’re dating, but I love that she is. She would never take it directly but siphoned through as business has her seeing things differently. Anyway, I wouldn’t have given it if I didn’t want her to have it.
I nod, but then say, “The glove, the bottle, the bed, and the rain. They already make a great collection.”
She stares, and then pink colors her cheeks. “You remembered each one,” she says in awe. Tucking her hair behind an ear, she lets out a peal of soft laughter that rattles her shoulders. “I think it would be amazing to be a professional photographer.”
“You’re already of that caliber.”
“Thanks, Cooper, but you know me and don’t want to hurt my feelings.”
“So I can’t have an honest opinion without it coming off as tainted because we’re dating?”
Amused, she relaxes, releasing the tight hold on the pillow. “No, you can’t have an honest opinion because you’ve been inside me.”