Total pages in book: 133
Estimated words: 138315 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 692(@200wpm)___ 553(@250wpm)___ 461(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 138315 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 692(@200wpm)___ 553(@250wpm)___ 461(@300wpm)
Then he asked, “And how’d he handle that?”
“He didn’t reply.”
Which meant he was ticked.
Further, that meant I’d catch it the next time I saw him.
I didn’t share that last part with Axl.
Then again, I might not catch it, since apparently Axl was coming with me to Dad’s when I went.
“And tonight?” Axl pressed.
Bluh.
I totally didn’t want Dad encroaching on my Sunday with Axl, not this conversation, not having to leave the house to make him dinner.
In fact, until Axl just mentioned it, I hadn’t given a thought to Dad.
Which, really, was a first.
I gave a thought to Dad a lot.
Hmm.
“I hope you know, if your dad was a loving father, and genuinely needed your day-to-day assistance, I would not have an issue with that,” he remarked.
“I know,” I replied quickly. “Of course I know.”
“This is something else.”
I knew that too.
I delved into the butter and made a study of carefully spreading it on my croissant.
“Hattie,” Axl called.
I looked up at him. “I can’t stop. He won’t take care of himself. And he’s my dad.”
“Okay, then as I told you, tonight, I’m going with you.”
Oh boy.
“Has he met any of your other boyfriends?” he inquired.
Whoa.
Just … whoa.
Axl was my boyfriend?
My boyfriend?
Major flutter.
“Hattie,” he called again, a little less patiently this time.
“You’re my boyfriend?” I asked.
“Were you there post-first-fuck convo yesterday?” he returned teasingly.
I so was.
Thank God.
Okay, he was my boyfriend.
There was that cashmere blanket again.
And okay times two, we were talking about this.
Last, I was procrastinating again.
We could either have this conversation now, or have it when I had to leave to go to Dad’s, something I actually couldn’t do without Axl because I hadn’t been behind the wheel of my car in a week, not to mention, my vehicle wasn’t even there.
“We need to go get my car,” I noted.
“Baby,” he murmured.
Procrastinating!
“Right, no,” I belatedly answered. “About the boyfriends. And that’s not a hard no, because I actually have, but it was a high school boyfriend and we went to Dad’s so he could take pictures of us before prom, so it kinda counts, but also doesn’t. Because … high school.”
“And how’d that go?”
“Dad was charming and funny, and at my next visitation with him, he told me Tyler was a loser.”
“Was he a loser?”
I shook my head. “No, he was nice. Then he went off to school at Cornell. He broke up with me his second week there. It bummed me out.”
“Sorry, honey,” Axl said through a grin.
The grin was cocky and amused.
Then again, if Tyler hadn’t moved on from his high school girlfriend, I might not be in bed with Axl eating croissants and being annoyed by my father who wasn’t even there.
“But he was the only one,” I continued. “Tyler, I mean. Dad might actually like you,” I added. “He’s a man’s man. You being all commando-y, he might understand I scored a winner.”
Axl’s lips quirked. “Commando-y?”
“Even in sleep pants, you look like you could topple a dictator.”
Axl burst out laughing.
“It’s the chest,” I pinpointed it.
Axl laughed harder.
I smiled and watched while he did.
Then I realized, with him being my boyfriend, I was his girlfriend, and this afforded me certain rights and privileges.
So I took advantage of one, pushed up to my knees and kissed his morning-stubble jaw as he did it.
While I was moving away, he caught me by the back of my neck, pressed his lips hard to mine, and only after he did that did he let me go.
I sat back on my ass as Axl said, “You know, a real man’s man does not depend on his daughter to check his blood sugar and cook his meals.”
“Mm,” I hummed noncommittally.
“Right, let’s boil this down,” he suggested.
I shoved my last bite of croissant in my mouth and gave him my full attention.
“Obviously, I think any adult should be responsible for their own life and health.”
“Hmm,” I agreed, but only tonally.
“And obviously, I’m not a fan of your dad abusing you, not only verbally, but by controlling your time and thus your life by landing a heavy responsibility on you that you have to consider every fucking day, so essentially, he’s got you on a lead he yanks every fucking day.”
I said nothing to that, not even making a noise, because …
Holy shit.
He did.
Onward from my earlier realization that I gave a lot of thought to Dad, I also had to fit him in every day.
Which meant I not only had to think of him, but actually fit him in. What I’d make him for dinner, then make it. If he had groceries, his prescriptions, and if he didn’t, buy them.
All of this countless times every single day.
It was just my day, and I did it.
I didn’t think about it, except to think it was inconvenient, or to worry about what other people thought that I did it.