Total pages in book: 99
Estimated words: 93806 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 469(@200wpm)___ 375(@250wpm)___ 313(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 93806 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 469(@200wpm)___ 375(@250wpm)___ 313(@300wpm)
I never go back to sleep. I can’t. Images of being above her and feeling her orgasm under me have left my mind reeling. Remembering her sneaking out is starting to override the good that was last night. I’m left wondering what went wrong and, more importantly, where we go from here.
She didn’t stay, so that makes me think she regretted last night. I hope not, but reality is descending into my chest, making my heart hurt that we may not be meant to be together. The start of this relationship is full of complications, and I don’t know if either of us is strong enough to work through those.
I pull on a pair of athletic shorts, a T-shirt, socks, and sneakers. I have pent-up energy, ideas of settling down, and stress that needs to be burned off. Once I hit the pavement outside, I’m off. I feel sluggish until I reach the park, falling in line with the other joggers who are up early to take advantage of the peacefulness and cooler temperatures. It makes me wonder if they have a mind full of thoughts to sort through like I do.
I push myself hard as I round the turn that leads back to my building. My goal is five miles, and I have two more to reach it. Somehow, it seems easier when I set my own pace—fast when I’m irritated and slow when thoughts of Charlie arise.
I can’t stop my mind from lingering on all I’ve learned about her. She’s complex and understated. Her personality sneaks up on you and wins you over. She doesn’t have to be the center of attention, but you can’t ignore her beauty—inside or out.
She’s taken over too much of my headspace, so I try to harness it, pushing all thoughts of her to the back of my mind until I’m ready to deal with them. Today’s not that day.
After showering, I pull on some sleep pants and sit down at my desk. I haven’t been in the right frame of mind to write anything this week. Aunt Grace’s passing has been weighing heavily on me.
The impending family dinner I have to attend for the reading of the will agitates me, even though it’s more than two months away. I shouldn’t go. I don’t think Grace would care. It’s going to be more hassle than it’s worth, but something inside me, something way down deep, tells me I should be there. I should be the one to talk about my great-aunt, to represent her the way I remembered, to show who she really was. No one else understood her like I did. She didn’t hide her true self from me. She didn’t put on the charade in front of me. No one else will serve her memory as well as I will. I have to be there for her.
I open my bottom drawer and pull out a thin flat box tucked under extra file folders and desk supplies. I haven’t looked in here in months, but I feel the need to now.
The top photo is a black and white one taken of Grace last spring. She was lively that day and in a mischievous mood. She’d just had her will changed and shared that with me. I wasn’t comfortable speaking with her on such matters, and I’m not greedy and don’t want for much, so I told her to give everything to charity if she wished. I would love to see my family’s faces when they are told she changed the will and gave it all away to strangers. But Grace never revealed what changes she made. She had a sly sense of humor, and we’ll find out soon enough if she got the last laugh.
I smile before placing the picture on the coffee table and return to face a blank document on my laptop. The cursor taunts me, daring me to start a novel, daring me to step outside my comfort zone.
I stare.
Time passes.
Nothing.
My intimidation level peaks, and I close my laptop before walking away from it in frustration. I stand in my kitchen, leaning against the counter. Looking back at the computer, irritation stings, but I know this is not about the writing or lack thereof. This is about Charlie and her sneaking out this morning. I haven’t been able to shake that away and let her go.
I don’t fixate on women like this. I date, sure. But it’s been a while since I was in a committed relationship. Committed makes me scoff. My last girlfriend should have been committed. The irony in the word.
I make up my mind on the spot. I’m going to find her. I’m going after Charlie.
After throwing on a pair of old jeans and a T-shirt, I slip on my sneakers and jacket. I grab my wallet, phone, and keys before rushing out the door. The funny thing is I don’t know where I’m rushing to. I know I want to see her. Correct that—I know I need to see Charlie, but I don’t know anything about where she lives. In a city of eight million, it’s not easy to track people down without knowing a last name or phone number.