Total pages in book: 179
Estimated words: 173733 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 869(@200wpm)___ 695(@250wpm)___ 579(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 173733 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 869(@200wpm)___ 695(@250wpm)___ 579(@300wpm)
With no other option, I charge toward them and stop in front of them as they do me. “Hi there, Cat,” Kara says, while both men have knowing smirks on their faces.
“I distinctly remember seeing you on camera in that dress yesterday,” Royce says.
I scowl, stunned that he would point out my obvious overnight stay with Reese, considering he’s usually the quiet, brooding Walker brother. “Why are you even noticing my dress?” I demand.
Blake laughs and Kara elbows him. “Sorry, Cat,” she says. “Not even his wife can teach him manners.”
“I noticed the dress,” Royce says, scowling at her and then at me, “because my wife complained that she couldn’t fit into it because she’s too fat, when, of course, she’s not fat. She’s just pregnant. But I can’t get her to see that.”
In other words, he couldn’t care less about my overnight. He’s thinking out loud about his wife and not sure how to be there for her. “Just love her, Royce,” I say as if he’s really asked the question. “And from what I’ve seen, you’re doing just fine.” I pat his arm. “More than fine. I’ll let you all get to Reese. I know he’s eager for whatever you found for him.” I don’t wait for the knowing smirks that might follow. I start walking and exit to the street, the cool morning air going right up my dress to my naked crotch, which, of course, reminds me of Reese ripping my panties off me. Why was I even looking for them? I can’t actually wear them again.
I smile and sidestep a group of passersby, with my mind back on Royce and how he dotes on Lauren, how all the Walker men are that way with their women. They are arrogant and sexy, but they love just as big as they make the art of walking into a room. I know that kind of love exists out there, maybe thanks to them. It’s just not how my father was with my mother. He had his women. She let him. I can’t be her. And maybe seeing those Walker men right now was more well-timed than it was poorly timed.
I’m reminded that real men love their fat, pregnant women. I laugh and dig out my phone and dial Lauren. She answers on the first ring. “Hey, you big, fat, pregnant woman,” I say.
“That is not funny,” she chides, and I can hear her scowl. “I might even unfriend you.”
“You’re not fat,” I say, barely dodging two men who almost run me over and never even notice I’m there. “You are however, quite possibly losing your mind, though, if you think you’re fat. I just ran into Royce and he told me you were saying you are.”
“Royce has a big mouth. And I am fat. None of my clothes fit me.”
“You’re pregnant. And tiny.”
“I carry it all in my hips, not my belly. Some women are all in their cute baby belly, but no. Not me. All ass and hips. I want a cute baby belly. And how did you run into Royce? He was going to— Reese. Cat. Were you—”
“Yes. He apparently took your challenge and mine, and won.”
She laughs. “As I knew he would. He has a lot of the Walker men traits about him. He sees. He wants. He goes after that target.”
“Hold on,” I say, running across a street before the light turns. “Okay. Sorry. I’m hurrying home. I need a shower. He’s a good guy right, Lauren?”
“A very good guy. And you really like him, or you wouldn’t be on the phone with me.”
“He’s never been married.”
“Neither have you.”
“He’s never been engaged,” I counter. “Or…I don’t think he has. Why not? He’s good looking and successful.”
“Did you ask him?”
“Yes. He said he’s a workaholic.”
“He’s in his thirties, probably a self-made millionaire or at least on his way there, and one of the top defense attorneys in the country. You and I both know what that takes.” Her line beeps. “Hold on.” The line clicks over and a few seconds pass. “I need to go,” she says when she comes back. “I have a female client divorcing her abusive husband. It’s a nightmare for her more than me. I want to talk about the trial. I’ll call you back later tonight.”
She hangs up, and I enter my apartment building to find my second oldest brother, Gabe, at the desk. The security guard says something to him and he turns to find me standing there. And, as usual, he’s looking his blond, preppy man-self, in his weekend jeans paired with his favorite Harvard shirt that has a collar, of course.
“Why are you wearing the dress you wore in court yesterday?” he asks.
“How do you even know I wore this yesterday?”
“You were on camera.”
“I repeat. How do you even know what I was wearing yesterday?”