Total pages in book: 83
Estimated words: 79488 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 397(@200wpm)___ 318(@250wpm)___ 265(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 79488 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 397(@200wpm)___ 318(@250wpm)___ 265(@300wpm)
“No.” She shakes her head back and forth emphatically. “You can’t have me because I don’t want you.”
My heart drops at her admission.
She doesn’t want me… not the way I want her.
Did I read this all wrong?
“I tried to pretend I was okay with all of this,” she says. “Bri told me stringless, emotionless sex would be good for me. And I thought she was right. I’d been so focused on trying to create a perfect life that I forgot to focus on me… on my wants and needs. But this…” She points back and forth between us. “This isn’t who I am. And as much as I want you, I want to find love more. And not just love… I want it all. The doting husband, the crazy kids. The cliché white picket fence. I want a home that’s filled with toys and family and love and laughter…”
A choked sob breaks up her words, momentarily stopping her from speaking, and I use that moment to cut in. “And I can give you all that if you give me a chance.”
Her eyes go wide. “But that’s not what you want. You said so yourself. It’s why you left Paola. Why you stayed away from Brody all these years.”
“I was scared,” I admit. “And she tricked me. She lied and manipulated me. But you’re not her, and I’m not the same guy I was back then. For so long, I told myself this was how it had to be, and by keeping every woman at arm’s length, it made my decision easy. But then you walked into my life with your Southern accent and crazy shirts and Starbucks coffee and your goddamned fluffy boots on my treadmill…and everything changed.”
She laughs a watery laugh, mumbling, “It’s not your treadmill,” and I know I have her in my grasp.
“I don’t want to allow my fear of history repeating itself to keep me from being with you. My mom was sick, I know that now, and even though my dad loved her, he didn’t get her the help she needed. But that won’t be us… I won’t allow that to be us.” I lock my eyes with hers, silently pleading for her to understand. “I want everything you want, Sav. The family, the house… And I want it all with you.”
With my fingers in her hair, I tilt her face up slightly. “Now, the question is, do you want it with me?”
After several long as fuck seconds, she answers me with a single nod, but that’s not enough. “I need to hear you say it. Do you want it with me?”
“Yes,” she breathes. “I want it with you. The house, the babies…Brody… I want it all with you.”
Fuck, this woman. Of course she includes my son, and that only solidifies what I’ve known since I admitted to myself that I was falling for her: she’s the one. She’s the goddamn strings attached to my heart.
My mouth crashes down on hers in a quick but bruising kiss. “I’m going to give it all to you,” I murmur against her lips. “Every goddamn thing.”
We stay in the hallway kissing for several minutes until my phone chimes with an incoming text, breaking the moment.
Brody: I’m starving! There’s no food here.
I turn the phone around so Savannah can see it.
“C’mon, let’s go back in,” she says with a laugh. “I’m hungry too. I’m craving some Mexican… Oh! And chocolate cake.”
“You got it.” I kiss her one more time, then take her hand in mine and guide us back to my place. When we open the door, Brody pops his head out of the kitchen.
“Oh, good. I thought I was going to have to eat like a sandwich or something.”
Savannah snorts out a laugh. “You poor thing.”
Brody’s eyes descend to our adjoined hands. “Looks like you guys figured it out…”
“We did,” I tell him. “Savannah and I are dating.”
“And how did you come to that?” he asks with a smirk, turning his attention on Savannah. “Did my dad ask you out?”
Savannah giggles. “He did.”
“Good job, Dad.” He walks over and pats my shoulder. “Looks like dating isn’t just for teenagers.” Little shit. “Now that we got that handled, what’s for dinner?”
“Do you need any help at the office?” Brody asks, closing his now empty box that held his mountain of nachos—chicken, cheese, beans, sour cream, piled high on a shitload of tortilla chips—that looked like it was meant for three people. The kid is like a damn bottomless pit, and not only does he eat a shit ton but he also practically inhales it, leaving me to wonder if he even tasted his food.
“Why?” I ask, stabbing a piece of my cheesy grilled chicken and extending it toward Savannah so she can take a bite. Her plump lips slide the food off my fork, and she moans in appreciation.