Total pages in book: 102
Estimated words: 96600 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 483(@200wpm)___ 386(@250wpm)___ 322(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 96600 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 483(@200wpm)___ 386(@250wpm)___ 322(@300wpm)
“Because you’re ‘too busy.’” I made the air quotes to go along with my inflection.
He gave me an arched brow. “Not all of us are heirs to massive fortunes. Some of us have to work for a living.”
“It’s called self-care,” I joked.
“Yeah, about that self-care.” He moved to tuck himself away and I swiped my thumb over his leaking tip, bringing the last few drops of cum to my mouth.
“Thanks for the assist.” He zipped up and adjusted, then sat forward with his elbows on his knees. “The guys are worried about you.”
“The guys are worried that my apartment is out of rotation at the moment,” I quipped, then felt like an asshole. Thursday-night circle jerk wasn’t strictly a sex thing. Those guys were my friends, and if they were concerned, it wasn’t because they’d lost access to the largest, deepest hot tub in Manhattan.
“Come on.” Alex gave me a cut-the-bullshit look. “You’ve been down here for weeks. Nobody’s seen or heard from you—”
“I got in touch and invited you down, didn’t I?” I defended myself.
“Yeah, but you’re still holed up here. And while I appreciate that you’re distracted…” He gestured over his shoulder with his thumb toward the bedroom. “It feels like you’re running away from your life.”
I got to my feet, waving off the hand he offered for help as I hobbled to my cane. “It was a strategic retreat. But I am coming back.”
“When?”
“Tomorrow.” There. Got him.
“That so?”
“Is this an interrogation?” I asked.
“It’s an intervention.” He shook his head slowly. “Something bad happened to you. Something hilarious, but something bad.”
“I’m glad me being mauled by a grizzly bear amuses you,” I grumbled.
“Bro. Being mauled by a grizzly bear in the middle of a wedding at a five-star resort in a part of the country where there aren’t even any damn grizzly bears is objectively hilarious.” He sighed. “Can I see the scar?”
“I sent pictures to the group text,” I reminded him.
“Yeah, nasty pictures of tubes coming out and shit. I didn’t want to see that. Let me see how it healed up.” The request was more like an order, but a gentle one. And he was right; I hadn’t been keeping my friends up to date on my recovery.
With a sigh, I rolled up my pants leg and stiffly extended my calf. His eyes widened at the extent of the damage. The dip where muscle had been carved out and couldn’t be salvaged. The twisting purple scars that shined like they were so tight they might burst open. Punch marks from the staples, keyhole-shaped ends of surgical slashes where drains had been placed.
“It’s disgusting.” Voicing it to someone aloud, rather than trying to pretend I was fine, sucked less than I’d expected it to.
“It’s pretty gross,” Alex agreed.
“I’ve been downplaying it with Charlotte,” I admitted. “Acting like it doesn’t bother me all that much. And I know it shouldn’t. There’s nothing shameful about having a…disability.”
“You’re struggling to say the word,” Alex pointed out.
“I don’t like self-applying it.” I looked over my shoulder. I knew Charlotte was occupied by the continuation of her torment-by-denial, and likely wasn’t listening in on our conversation, but I wasn’t ready to share this particular facet of my recovery with her. “And I have this gorgeous woman with so much energy and an insatiable sex drive—”
“You’ve met your soulmate, then,” Alex interrupted.
He was completely right. Having Charlotte in my life made me feel whole. Not in a made-me-feel-like-I-wasn’t-attacked-by-a-bear sense, but like my life had been missing something before she was in it. “I think I have. But I went from feeling like I was so young for my age, like I could keep up with someone like her, not sexually but in terms of the kind of life she’s probably interested in, to…” I thumped my cane on the tile.
“Have you paused in all this fucking to ask her what kind of life she’s interested in?” Alex pressed.
I shook my head, admitting, “Not beyond some ground-level basics.”
“Maybe that’s a conversation you should have, then? About her expectations?”
“What are you, my therapist?” I tried to joke.
“I’m your friend. And I get it, about Charlotte. She’s adorable. She’s friendly. You’ve needed someone like her in your life for years. And yeah, she’s young, but if she’s as into you as you are into her, you can make it work. But there has to be communication.”
He sighed and relaxed against the couch cushions. “You know, being able-bodied isn’t something that lasts your whole life. Unless we’re super lucky. Or, super unlucky and we get hit by a bus in our prime. Sooner or later, we all end up with a cane or a wheelchair or a round-the-clock nurse. Even without the bear thing, that’s something you need to face, and with her. She’s young. She needs to prepare for all of that shit to hit you like two decades before it hits her.”