Page 33 of Single-Minded
Her brows rose. “That’s a lot to process.”
I shrugged. “Not as much as if he’d ever been in my life. We didn’t need him. My mom and I made it just fine.”
She nodded. “I get that. My dad damaged my mom. There’s no way to prove it, but I’ve often thought all the abuse and stress she went through with him shortened her life. She would’ve been better off if she’d never married him.”
“Some men aren’t worth the oxygen they breathe,” I said.
“I guess we have single moms and deadbeat dads in common then,” she said. “And you thought we were so different.”
“We’re different,” I said with conviction. “I won’t be buying a boat anytime in the near future.”
“I haven’t decided to buy a boat yet,” she said stubbornly. “I understand your point, West. I’ll just say it. I have a lot of money. I worked my ass off for it and sacrificed my health. I won’t apologize for it or feel bad about it?—”
“Hell no, you shouldn’t feel bad about it,” I said. “I respect the hell out of what you’ve done for yourself. Don’t you dare apologize.”
After watching my mom sacrifice sleep to work two jobs, be paid less than she was worth, and work twice as hard as everyone else, I knew how unfair the world could be because of gender. I was more than familiar with female willpower and determination. My mom had them in spades, and those qualities had gotten us through my childhood.
Presley had them as well. She was the kind of woman I wanted my girls exposed to—on an acquaintance basis, not something more personal, like the woman I was involved with. I didn’t want my girls exposed to anyone I was involved with. Been there, done that, didn’t like the T-shirt, and neither did my daughters.
What I wanted for my girls was for them to know in their hearts they could do whatever they set out to do, just like Presley had. Didn’t matter if their mom was a flake or their dad was just a construction guy. I wanted them to believe in their unlimited potential the way Presley obviously did in hers.
“Something you should understand,” Presley said. “I might’ve spent a lot of money lately, on this house and starting up my business, but normally I’m sort of thrifty.”
I couldn’t help but laugh. “Somehow I suspect your definition of thrifty and mine are different.”
“I don’t splurge very often,” she insisted. “These big things lately? Those are important. I refuse to cut corners on my home and business, but normally the only thing I overspend on is shoes.”
“Which explains why you want an entire wall in the master closet to be shoe storage,” I said. “I’ve been meaning to ask you if that was right.”
“It’s right. Shoes are my weakness.”
I glanced at her bare feet. “I haven’t seen you wear the same pair twice.”
“Follow me,” she said, gesturing with her index finger.
She went out the door and took a left. The door opposite her office was open, allowing me an eyeful as we walked past what looked like fluffy, soft, rumpled bedding in pink and white. I almost missed a step when I spotted a puddle of silky-looking sky-blue lingerie on the floor on this side of the bed.
To my relief, she kept walking. I already knew the sweet, feminine bedding and the sexy-as-fuck underthings were going to appear in my dreams whether I wanted them to or not.
She turned into yet another bedroom and stopped not far into the room.
“This is why I need the shoe wall in the closet,” she said, waving at stacks of shoe organizer shelves along one of the walls. She laughed and spun around, taking in the whole room, which seemed to be serving as a closet and a place for half-unpacked boxes. “I donated twenty-seven pairs before I moved too.”
My brows climbed even higher on my forehead as I tried to think what to say.
“This is my vice. Shoes are my weakness. But otherwise, West, you and I aren’t all that different.”
I met her gaze, took in her soft, pretty features, allowed myself a glance at those lips that begged to be nipped and kissed. We were different all right. Different in all the right ways.
I did an internal head shake at myself. We weren’t going there.
“I won’t question the shoe wall anymore,” I joked as if my pulse wasn’t pounding through my veins with lust.
She grinned, then went serious. “I’ll respect your decision. About us, I mean. I don’t like it, but I’ll honor it. The last thing I want to do is make you uncomfortable.”
It was a little late for that, as my erection was making my pants damn uncomfortable.
I turned away with a nod, needing to get out of her personal space, where everything gave me ideas, most of them X-rated.
