Total pages in book: 135
Estimated words: 134706 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 674(@200wpm)___ 539(@250wpm)___ 449(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 134706 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 674(@200wpm)___ 539(@250wpm)___ 449(@300wpm)
I drop my head to hide my smile . . . oh, he’s good.
“They’ll also eat all of the food, and they won’t have a skateboard or bike at your house, so you will have to share all of your things.”
The blood drains from Harry’s face as he listens.
“That’s if they aren’t girls.”
“Girls?” Harry gasps as he chokes on his water. “No way. You are not going out with anyone with kids, Mom. I forbid it,” he whispers through gritted teeth.
“Oh.” I frown as I play along. “I kind of liked the idea of having more kids around.”
“Or not,” Tristan mutters under his breath.
“Well.” I smile at the gorgeous, conniving man beside me. “What is my last choice?”
“Me.”
“And why should I pick you to be my boyfriend?” I ask.
“That’s a very good question, Claire,” he says as he takes a piece of paper out of his suit coat pocket. “I have prepared a list of my attributes.”
I roll my lips to hide my smile at his shenanigans.
He unfolds the paper and begins to read from the list of points he has written.
“I’m good looking.”
Patrick smiles goofily up at Tristan. “It’s true; you are.” He bounces in his chair excitedly.
“Oh God,” Harry moans. “Here we go.”
“You don’t have to move to another country and leave your pets homeless and vulnerable.”
I laugh, and Fletcher rolls his eyes.
“You don’t have to share a bedroom with anyone.”
“I’m not doing that anyway,” Harry cuts him off. “Don’t get any ideas, Mom.”
“I’m getting a bigger car,” he continues.
“You are?” I frown. I put my hand out for the paper. “Show me where it says that on the list.”
He pulls the paper out of my grasp. “That was a recently added point, Claire. Don’t interrupt me.”
I giggle.
“I’m fun.” He straightens his tie.
I swoon across the table . . . you got that right, baby. You are so fun.
“You are not fun,” Harry huffs. “You’re boring.”
Tristan flicks the paper down in disgust. “How am I boring? Name one time I have been boring.”
“Right now. This is boring,” Harry fires back.
“You’re boring,” Tristan mutters dryly. “Shut up, Wizard, and listen to my points.”
“He’s not boring, Mom,” Patrick whispers, as if feeling the need to remind me.
“I live in New York, so I can come and visit you, and you can come to my house and visit me, if you like. Nobody has to move anywhere, and it’s no big deal to visit.”
They all listen intently.
“And,” he adds, “I am an excellent cook.”
I frown. “You cook?”
“Yes. Yes, I do.” He flicks the paper in front of him. “My specialty is baking brownies and chocolate cake. They asked me to make a cookbook on chocolate desserts once, which I gracefully declined.”
The boys’ faces fall, and I struggle to hide my laugh.
“Well. I’m very impressed,” I reply. “You do have some excellent assets.”
“I do.” He smiles proudly.
The table falls silent.
“I propose a vote,” Tristan says.
“A vote?” I frown.
“Yes.” He smiles proudly. “We all have to vote who your mom is going to have as a boyfriend.”
“I didn’t agree to this,” Harry says.
“No, Wiz, you have to pick one for Mom. Think very carefully about it, and remember, majority vote wins,” he says quickly as a disclaimer.
Tristan’s eyes find mine, and I smile softly as I try to send him a telepathic message: I love you.
“All in favor of you moving to France, hold your hands up.”
I go to put my hand up, and Tristan screws up his nose in a warning.
I giggle.
“Okay,” he says, carrying on with the proceedings. “All those in favor of sharing bedrooms and internet, raise your hands.”
Everyone sits still.
“All those in favor of me being your mom’s boyfriend, raise your hand.”
He puts his hand up. Patrick nearly touches the ceiling his hand shoots up so fast.
Fletcher frowns as he contemplates the question, and Tristan looks over and raises an eyebrow in a warning. Fletcher shrugs and sheepishly puts his hand half up.
“So . . . what are my other options?” I ask.
Tristan looks at me deadpan. “Pathetic Pilates Paul,” he snaps.
“Oh, I do like him, though,” I tease.
Tristan narrows his eyes.
“But I guess between you and him, I would prefer you.” I raise my hand, and Tristan smiles and gives me a sexy wink.
Harry crosses his arms in front of him, outraged at such a vote.
“What’s it going to be, Wiz?” Tristan asks. “Who are you voting for?”
Harry looks around the table as he weighs up all the options. “I’m voting for . . .”
We all hold our breath.
“I’m going with Pilates Paul.”
My heart sinks. I was hoping he’d pick Tristan.
“Oh well.” Tristan sighs. “How sad that you lost. Majority vote wins, and it’s four against one.” He sips his drink. “I can drop you at Pilates Paul’s house on the way home, if you wish. I’m sure he has a spare pink headband for you.”