Total pages in book: 187
Estimated words: 174623 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 873(@200wpm)___ 698(@250wpm)___ 582(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 174623 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 873(@200wpm)___ 698(@250wpm)___ 582(@300wpm)
It doesn't alarm me, but it's a little unnerving for someone to be so invested in my well-being when there's nothing for them to benefit from attached to it. I loved my parents growing up, but there were always expectations. They never openly said that if I do this for you, then I expect this in return, but that doesn't mean that conditioning didn't happen at such a young age that I just don't remember.
I wait for him to take the first bite, my attention no less on his mouth than it is at moments when he speaks. The groan that rumbles through his chest sends a thrill of need down my back, making the hairs stand up at the base of my neck.
Although I can't imagine eating a burger with a fried egg on it, I can admit that I don't dislike the way his tongue sneaks out to swipe at the yolk drop on his lip.
He lifts his eyes, catching me watching him, but as much as I feel guilty, I can't seem to pull my eyes away.
He chews, his head tilting slightly when I can't choose between looking into his eyes or watching his mouth.
"Told you it was messy," he says once he swallows, wiping his mouth with a napkin. "Want a bite?"
He holds the dripping burger out, as if I'd actually lean across the table and accept the offer.
"No, thank you," I say and busy myself with my own food.
The next ten minutes are spent in silence as we eat, and I make a valiant effort to look anywhere in the room but directly at him.
I bag our trash once we're done, and feel a little lost standing in the middle of my kitchen after throwing it away.
"We can watch TV," I offer, exhausted but knowing I'd never be able to fall asleep right now. "Anything in particular you want to watch?"
I make my way to the living room and take a seat on the love seat before reaching for the remote.
He hovers for a long moment as if he isn't sure what he should be doing either, and his unease seems to settle mine somehow.
"You can sit," I tell him, pointing to the recliner. "Or I can move, since this is going to be your bed?"
He shakes his head as he drops down into the recliner. "I won't be sleeping tonight."
"That doesn't seem healthy," I say. "When was the last time you got a full night's sleep?"
His eyes are on me, and as much as I want to like the attention, especially after feeling the warmth of his body earlier, I've spent many years trying my best not to attract attention from anyone. It's an unfamiliar feeling, and I don't know how to react.
"Not in a very long time," he offers. "I'm not very good at sleeping."
"Insomnia?" I ask, regretting the question immediately.
Asking questions gives others permission to ask you questions, and that's one more thing I've avoided for years. I don't want to seem rude, but discussing my life and history hasn’t been comfortable for me for a very long time.
"Hard to turn my brain off, I guess," he answers.
I nod, fully understanding what he means because it's something I've struggled with as well.
I point the remote toward the TV, hoping the distraction works.
"Any preferences?" I ask again.
"I don't really watch TV," he says, his eyes drifting from me to the TV.
"I don't either," I confess without offering further explanation.
Thankfully, he doesn't ask me what I do with my time because I can only imagine the frown he'd point in my direction when I tell him I worry, pace, and plan my next escape.
I pick a show about river otters, and within the first couple of minutes, I'm fully engaged and grinning at their antics.
A soft melody plays in the background, with the animals' sounds and noises as the primary focus. There isn't even commentary, and I think I love the fact that viewers just get to enjoy watching them exist in life.
"Do you work at the women's shelters because of the anonymity it offers or because of your past?"
I freeze at the sound of his voice.
I'm not so engaged with the show that I forgot he was sitting in the same room. I don't know that my body would ever let me relax enough to be surprised by someone's voice, but I was praying there would be no questions, no curiosity from him.
"Both, I think," I answer honestly, surprised that I don't feel like I'm being pressured to respond the way I sometimes do when women at work ask me questions.
If Max was able to find out all the things they told me earlier at the clubhouse, then this man has to know details about my past. That alone should worry me, but for some reason it doesn't.