Total pages in book: 38
Estimated words: 36643 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 183(@200wpm)___ 147(@250wpm)___ 122(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 36643 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 183(@200wpm)___ 147(@250wpm)___ 122(@300wpm)
But the days, man.
Ugh.
“Scootch your bootch,” Yolanda says as she opens her oven. “You okay, honey?”
I nod as I brown the sausage. I’ve been at our parents’ house since the butt crack of dawn this morning. Tonight is the big party and we have so much to do. Clara is supposed to come by after work to lend a hand. As much as I want to see her, I’m not sure if I’ll be able to handle the weirdness of us being in our childhood home knowing we have such a horrible secret.
Horrible?
It’s actually the most amazing thing that’s ever happened to me. I hate that it has to be kept a secret. One day, we might have to squash it altogether.
Then why do you keep having unprotected sex with your stepsister, dumbass?
“I’m fine,” I lie with a grunt. “Just thinking about what Dad said.”
Yolanda closes the oven and then rests her hip on the counter near me to study me up close. “You know he means well, but sometimes oversteps. If you’ve got the savings, take time to find what you want to do. Don’t let him rush you.”
“I wish I could do this with you,” I tease, grinning at her. “Bake shit and listen to music.”
She chuckles and smacks my arm. “Don’t tease an old woman. It’s mean.”
We fall into a comfortable routine, making a shit ton of stuff from her list. It’s nearing five when we stop for a break. I suck down a bottle of water while my mind drifts to Clara.
I miss her.
I can’t go a day without her, apparently, without physically aching for her. She has me so fucked in the head.
“Hey guys,” a sweet voice calls out. “Did I miss out on all the fun?”
My chest tightens at the sound of Clara entering the house. She waltzes into the kitchen, a bag over her shoulder and a smile on her face. I track her, feeling the pull to go to her, as she hugs her mom. Then, she gives me a quick hug. I wish I could crush her to me and keep her there.
“We’re mostly done,” Yolanda says, stroking her hand down Clara’s back. “We need to get ready, of course, but it’s just about ready.”
“I can keep an eye on the oven,” I tell Yolanda, “if you want to go get dressed. It’ll only take me a couple of minutes to get ready.”
She gives me a grateful smile and hurries out of the kitchen. Clara sets her bag on the floor and peeks at me under her dark lashes. It’s dangerous being in this kitchen alone with her.
“How was work?” I ask, voice gruff. “Busy?”
I hate small talk. And yet…
“Good,” she chirps. “It’s the season for great tips. I’m happy.”
“Do you massage a lot of men?”
So much for small talk. Now you’re back to being a possessive idiot.
Her eyebrow hikes up. “A lot, yes. Why?”
I grind my teeth together, hoping to get the image of half-naked men on her table out of my head. “Just wondering.”
She creeps over to me until she’s inches from my chest. “Are you jealous?”
“If I was, would you quit?”
“Nope.”
“I don’t like thinking about you touching them,” I admit with a growl. “Makes me twitchy.”
She smirks. “I’m a professional. Except with you.”
Heat ignites in my belly. Before I can stop myself, I dip my mouth to hers and kiss her deeply. She gasps, shocked at the boldness of my action, but kisses me eagerly back.
I pull away before I get carried away. The last thing we need is to get caught by her mother.
“I love you,” I blurt out, chest aching. “So fucking much.”
Her features soften and she hugs me. “I love you too.”
We’re both hurting. I can feel it. I know she does too. This thing between us is messy and fucked-up. We should quit it, but we can’t. It’s an addiction that we’ll never be able to conquer.
I rub my palms up and down her back before settling them on her ass. She squeezes me tighter. The oven timer dings and we jolt apart. And just in time too, because I hear the garage door opening.
“I’m going to go get changed,” Clara says, pecking me on the cheek.
She disappears and seconds later Dad walks into the house.
“Smells damn good, Son,” he says as he strides over to me. He smacks my back and grins at me. “Anything I can snack on now?”
“Yolanda will kill you.”
“Meh,” he grumbles. “What she doesn’t know won’t hurt her.”
“What’s that?” Yolanda says as she breezes into the kitchen wearing a pretty green dress.
“Busted.” I burst out laughing as Dad hangs his head. “On that note, I’ll go change too.”
Once upstairs in my old room that’s been turned into a guest room, I tear off my casual clothes and change into slacks, dress shoes, and a corny Christmas sweater that came from Dad’s closet.