Total pages in book: 84
Estimated words: 79040 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 395(@200wpm)___ 316(@250wpm)___ 263(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 79040 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 395(@200wpm)___ 316(@250wpm)___ 263(@300wpm)
Charli is smiling. “You sound like a good not-dad to me. My older brother just taught me not to share anything. If anybody ever did something remotely wrong, he wanted to kill them. So I had to keep everything bottled up. I guess I learned not to rock the boat, you know?”
I nod. “Been there. Except I think I chose a different path. My dad was a piece of shit. Impossible to please. Always riding us. Maybe I could’ve learned to play nice, but I went the other way. I looked for every opportunity to piss him off. I think I figured he’d eventually burn out, you know? Over-exposure to my shittiness would eventually just fry his ability to get mad. But then he split up with my mom when I was in college. Mom kind of withdrew. She blamed herself. I blamed myself. Yada yada.”
Charli’s forehead scrunches. “You shouldn’t blame yourself.”
“Nah, maybe not. But you know how that stuff is. And I really was a shit. It had to be part of why he wanted nothing to do with us.”
Charli surprises me by reaching over and hugging me tight. “I’m sorry,” she says.
I’m struck by an unexpected wave of emotion. I didn’t think I really cared about any of it anymore, but her sympathy makes me see it all in a different light. “It’s no big deal,” I say, even though I don’t particularly feel it at the moment. “That was a long time ago, anyway.”
She just hugs me a little tighter. I put an arm around her and give a squeeze. “But if talking about my sad past is going to get you to keep doing that, I can go on.”
Charli lets go and I can’t help laughing when I see she’s a little teary eyed. “What the hell?” I say, still chuckling. I reach up to wipe her eyes.
She shakes her head. “I get emotional easily, okay? Don’t make fun of me.”
“I’m not. It’s sweet. Damn,” I say, folding my arms. “You may be too good for me, Charli McBride.”
“There you go talking like having me is on the table.”
“It doesn’t have to be on a table. I’d have you in the kitchen, in my bed, or…” I gesture with my empty root beer float toward some trees in the park. “In those trees.”
“You said you were going to stop trying to seduce me.”
“Yeah, well, you started getting all sad and I thought I should annoy you a bit to lighten the mood.”
“It’s working.”
We share a smile, and at that moment, I don’t feel like myself. I feel like the kind of guy who doesn’t burn through people and problems, leaving wreckage in my wake without a care in the world. I feel like someone who wants to keep embracing this “stop and smell the roses” thing I’ve been doing all week–like the kind of guy who could learn to settle down if the right girl came along, because now I’ve had a glimpse of what the right girl looks like.
With all those thoughts comes my first real tinge of fear. What if Charli really just wants to pretend? I’m not sure that’ll be good enough for me anymore.
11
CHARLI
It has been a week since the breakup with Vaughn. A week since I met Jameson and ran away from his offer to publish my book. A week since I was questionably employed by my ex.
I wish I could say I have been editing like a maniac to get my book ready, but I haven’t. It’s morning now. I’m in a busy coffee shop that smells like fresh baked bread and dark roast, and I’m seeing my best friends for the first time since they left for their girl’s trip.
They’re going on and on about the trip, mostly because I haven’t dropped any of my bombshells on them, yet. I’m doing my best to listen, but the back of my mind is completely consumed by the fact that as they speak, Vaughn and Aubrey are taking steps to put my book out into the world with Aubrey’s name on it. It makes me sick.
Roxie snaps her fingers to get my attention. “Charli, I love the sound of my own voice, but I also love it when my friends actually pay attention to me.” Roxie dresses like she’s a rockstar from the 80’s. Her brown hair is styled into a wolf cut with bangs and short curls that fall to her shoulders. She wears customized jackets and graphic t’s with worn out jeans and boots. She has always been way cooler than me, but she’s also more than a bit unhinged. She calls herself an entrepreneur, but what she does is a whole lot closer to a scam artist or small-time criminal behavior.
“Sorry. Sorry,” I say, repeating myself and pinching the bridge of my nose. “Guys, I didn’t want to be rude and spoil your trip with bad news or be a bummer before you could tell me about all the fun you had. But…”