Total pages in book: 46
Estimated words: 45063 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 225(@200wpm)___ 180(@250wpm)___ 150(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 45063 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 225(@200wpm)___ 180(@250wpm)___ 150(@300wpm)
“He’s not that sort of man,” I reply. “I’ve thought about it, and you’re right. If he was some pervert, like those creeps who drugged me… then yeah, maybe you’d have a point. But I just can’t believe he’s that sort of man.”
“What about the Eva thing?”
I bite down, not wanting to share what I sort of know. When I guessed it earlier, Bryson just shook his head, but it wasn’t like he was telling me, You’re wrong.
It was more like he said, “You know, I can’t say.”
“He’s not the sort of man to have an affair with his best friend’s wife.”
“But he will go on secret dates with his best friend’s sister?”
My jaw clenches even tighter. Tiffany has a point. If I was looking at this from the outside, I’d be making similar comments, but I can’t view this from an outside perspective. I can only exist inside the whirling heat of who we are or what we’re becoming.
“I’ll be careful,” I tell her. “Remember, he saved me. He stopped it from happening.”
“I hate myself for that,” Tiffany says after a pause, her voice cracking in a way I recognize, as though she’s close to tears.
“Stop saying that. It’s not your fault. I offered to get you a drink, and some creep took his shot.”
“But if you weren’t at the club…”
“If you think like that, you can make anything your fault. If I hadn’t offered you my pencil in English class, we would never have become friends. We never would’ve lived together. I never would’ve been at the club. So it’s my fault.”
“You’re too mature for me,” Tiffany says, and I can hear the smile in her voice.
“I was thinking we should do a podcast about this,” I say. “About the drugging. The kidnapping. What almost happened.”
“Won’t it be too painful?” Tiffany asks, but I can tell she wants to.
“Maybe, but what’s our podcast for, if not to explore the real issues? This will be all over the papers, too. Maybe some people would say it’s cold, thinking like this, but screw it. If we can further our careers on the backs of these assholes, why not?”
“Amen to that,” Tiffany says, laughing gently, “but I’ll understand if you change your mind.”
“Thanks.”
“Thank me by being careful. I don’t want you getting hurt.”
“I’ll be careful,” I tell her. “I promise.”
After the phone call, I close my eyes, thinking of the date tomorrow, of what Bryson might say.
He might want to let me down gently, tenderly explaining that my crush is madness and I need to rest. Or he could pull me into his arms, kiss me hard, and tell me I belong to him. Only to him.
Just like he belongs to me.
CHAPTER TWENTY
Bryson
“I can’t tell you that you were right about what you said.” I drove us out of the city, Harper sitting beside me in a sparkly black top and tight jeans, her hair styled and light makeup enhancing her natural beauty. “But I can’t tell you that you were wrong, either.”
“About Eva?” she asks.
I nod, struggling to look at my woman, knowing where it could lead.
Last night, I asked Adam, casually, “What would you say if Harper ever asked about Eva’s childhood?”
He looked at me sharply, his eyes tired from work. “I’d tell her what I could.”
So that’s what I’ve done, essentially confirming that she’s guessed it correctly without outright saying it.
Adam looked at me for a few moments, as if seeing the reason I was asking… as if seeing a lot else.
I wonder.
But no. He can’t know. Can he?
I could tell Harper how I became a big brother to Eva in the orphanage and visited once I left to make sure she was doing okay. How we argued, more than once, about the shame she held about it, but it was her decision to share that part of her life. I’d never push her on it.
“Are you excited?” I ask now, glancing at my woman.
She’s got her hands clasped in her lap, a ring I’ve never seen before glinting at me. It brings more rings to my mind, one belonging to a different finger, as I kneel and stare up at her…
She nods, cheeks blossoming red. Somehow, it’s possible to forget about everything else.
“Are you?” she asks.
“Yeah. It’ll feel like being a real couple. Like we don’t have to hide.”
Maybe one day, we won’t have to.
That look in Adam’s eyes…
Am I hoping too fiercely?
I place my hand on the small of Harper’s back as I guide her through the restaurant. It’s an open rooftop with fires in metal grills, flickering so the winter air is kept at bay. Our table is in the corner, and the place is quiet.
It’s a thrill to press my palm against her. I can feel the warmth of her body through the fabric of her shirt.