Total pages in book: 198
Estimated words: 186242 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 931(@200wpm)___ 745(@250wpm)___ 621(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 186242 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 931(@200wpm)___ 745(@250wpm)___ 621(@300wpm)
“Then I’ll sleep on the couch.”
“We’ll argue over it later,” he said. “I’ve got a few more spots I want to check out, and then I’ll be heading home. Take your stuff over and everything in your fridge so it doesn’t go bad. You got anything heavy, leave it and I’ll grab it when I get home.”
I swallowed. “You’re sure?”
“Yeah, angel, I’m sure. I’ll be home soon.”
I hung up the phone, feeling . . . jittery? Staying in the house was no big deal, okay. But it kind of felt like it at the same time.
I liked Rhodes way too much. In small, subtle ways that got under my skin. I liked how good of a father he was, how much he loved his son. And even though I’d loved someone once who had adored a family member more than he would ever care about me, in this case, that love was for very different reasons and in very different ways. He loved him enough to be tough but at the same time let him be his own person.
Rhodes was no Mrs. Jones.
I’d liked him even when he gave me the stink eye. And I had no idea what his plans were. Plans with me. I knew what I wouldn’t mind them looking like but . . .
I happened to look over and found Amos leaning against the counter, looking way too introspective.
“What?” I asked him, popping the tab on my own soda and taking a sip.
The boy shook his head.
“You can tell me anything, Little Sting, and I can tell you want to.”
That seemed to be enough for him. “Are you flirting with my dad?” he straight-up asked.
I almost spit the soda out. “No . . . ?”
He blinked. “No?”
“Maybe?”
Amos raised an eyebrow.
It was my turn to blink. “Yes, okay. Yes. But I flirt with everyone. Men and women. Children. You should see me around pets. I used to have a fish, and I sweet-talked her too. Her name was Gretchen Wieners. I miss her.” She had passed away a few years ago, but I still thought about her from time to time. She’d been a good travel companion. Not fussy at all.
That had the teenager’s cheeks going puffy for a second.
He fucking liked me. I knew it.
“Does it bother you if I flirt with your dad?” I paused. “Would it bother you if I liked him?” That wasn’t the best word to describe it, but it was the simplest.
That got him to scoff. “No! I’m sixteen, not five.”
“But you’re still his wittle baby, Am. And my feelings won’t be hurt”—that was a lie, they would be—“if you weren’t okay with it. You’re my friend too. Just like your dad. I don’t want to make things weird.”
The kid gave me a disgusted expression that made me laugh. “I don’t care. We already talked about it anyway.”
“You did?”
He nodded but didn’t clear up what they’d talked about. Instead, he got a funny look on his face, and I’d bet a finger it was his version of a protective expression. “He’s been alone a long time. Like, a long time. My whole life, he’s had some girlfriends, and none of them lasted that long. With my dad Billy not here and my uncles moving away, he doesn’t have that many friends, not like when he was in the Navy; he knew everybody then.”
I wasn’t sure where he was going with this so I stayed quiet, sensing there was more on his mind.
“My mom told me to tell you that it takes him a while to trust people.”
“Your mom said that?”
“Yeah, she asked me.”
“About your dad . . . and me?”
Amos nodded and took another sip. “Don’t tell him I told you, but you make him smile a lot.”
There went my heart again.
“You look . . . you know, like that, and . . . whatever. I don’t care if you like him, and I don’t care if he likes you. I want him . . . you know . . . to be happy. I don’t want him to regret being here,” he said in a way that told me he meant it, but still felt kind of loaded. Like he was giving me his blessing to follow what my heart was asking for. Not that I even really knew what that was.
“In that case, thank you, Am. I’m positive your dad doesn’t regret anything when it comes to you.” The urge to talk to him about how confusing his father was, was right there, but I wouldn’t do it. Refused to, more like it. “Changing the topic, I guess, I’m staying over tonight and sleeping on the couch since everything is shut off over there. Will you help me bring some of my groceries over, please? I can make dinner, and maybe we can watch a movie or you can let me listen to that song you’ve been working on—”