Page 16 of Bookworm
Holt looks over at me. “Baby, it’s because she’s also young.”
I look back and forth between the two bulls and you can see the air has changed. “We have a gap inourage. That isn’t a huge deal.”
“How bad is it, Waylon?” Holt rubs Blossom’s back gently as she coos. “I just got finished saying that I was locking this one up. If you’re telling me you’re here to take her, I would start running before I can draw.”
Waylon laughs, but I think Holt’s made his point.
“She’s not that young, and she needs my help. She’s got this shitty ex who won’t stop harassing her and I can’t help thinking I need to step in.” Waylon nods his head, as to justify what he’s feeling and what he wants to do.
“Well, I think it’s lovely, Waylon. You’ve been a good person to us always and to this town. If someone is lucky enough to catch your eye, I say give it a shot.” I reach forward and give him a hug. “I know you’re not the kind of guy who would screw over anyone.”
Waylon nods toward us, his massive shoulders widening before they relax. “Thank y’all for listening. I know this will be messy, but I need to find out what this could be.” He smiles at us both and then rubs the top of Blossom’s head. “I’ll leave you be with your little one.” He turns and heads back down the driveway. “Oh, and I’ve got another rodeo run for you if you’re interested.”
“He’s good,” I shout. “We’ll be at Saturday’s show, though. I hear Jake is up and riding again. I can’t wait to see his comeback.”
Waylon smiles and takes off toward his truck, but I can tell the smile is strained. Maybe we should’ve invited him in and let him talk about his dilemma more.
“He knows what he’s doing. On paper, we aren’t that much different.” I place my hand on Holt’s arm.
“Yeah, but a friend’s kid?”
I laugh and shrug my shoulders. “Please, that isn’t even the most taboo thing I’ve heard all week.”
Holt gives me a look like I better talk fast.
I laugh out loud. “You see, I’m reading this book about a woman who falls in love with three men at one time.”
Holt rolls his eyes. “Well, by those standards, Waylon’s basically a saint.” He smiles and leans into my neck, nuzzling me gently.
“Just be careful, mister. I’ve been known to cause a little trouble from time to time.”Check out a Bonus Scene Here
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Chapter One
Penelope
I’ve read every romance novel I can get my hands on. The long ones with the angsty, drawn out love that takes forever and a day to establish. The short ones with an instant attraction that seems too unreal to be true. And the super toxic stories, where the couple fall for one another despite one partner’s penchant for murder. They’re all good one way or the other, and I’ve related to them all at different points in my life. The toxic stories, less. But still, the happily ever after that infuses my blood with dopamine is enough to get me through the week.
They’re addicting, though. You get a high from the characters love, and when that wears off, your back like a junky, desperate for more. Wishing, hoping, praying, that one night you’ll be lying in bed and a six-foot five Prince Charming will break into your house, admit his terrible fondness for robbery, and you’ll fall in love with his dark brown eyes, massive muscles, and the giant cock that he can’t even hide through a pair of jeans.
My love story went a little differently. I have the one where the girl misjudged a guy when she was naïve and doomed herself to a life of regret and disappointment. I say doomed with a sense of self-loathing because that’s where I am right now.
Self-loathing, USA.It’s a cute little spot by the river where white and gray ducks chase each other in a murky green pond. People gather round its edge to contemplate their life choices. I give it… four out of five stars.
There’s the elderly man who sits slumped over the bench to the right of an oak tree. His frame is hunched over as he tosses tiny pieces of bread to the shameless ducks to rush out after. I bet he’s lost someone. I imagine he and his wife came out to this same spot on Sundays.No,they went somewhere nicer, like the lake. The lake up near Whiskey Falls. He can’t bear the thought of returning, so he sits here now, reliving their sweet ritual to the hum of strangers' tears.
Poetic.
To my left is a woman. I’d guess she’s in her late forties. Her hair is tied back in a loose bun and her gaze is set on the mountain range in the distance. She couldn't care less about me, or the ducks, or the pond, or anything else going on around her. She’s focused on whatever’s in her head. Given enough time, I could make up a story for her as well, but I see David in the distance, and my stomach turns.
It’s funny the things you give passes for when you think you’re in love.Robbery doesn’t count. Look at Aladdin.
David’s faults are much more nefarious.