Total pages in book: 84
Estimated words: 82945 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 415(@200wpm)___ 332(@250wpm)___ 276(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 82945 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 415(@200wpm)___ 332(@250wpm)___ 276(@300wpm)
“There’s something apt about them going to Florida to get into swinging,” he says pensively as our pace slows.
Thank god. I’m drenched in sweat. He keeps glancing at my legs and I think he likes the whole glistening-with-effort look, which I’ll keep in mind. “Right? It’s a weird state. Now it’s your turn. Start from the beginning.”
“My childhood isn’t very interesting. It’s like yours. Two boring parents. My father was a drunk, but not an abusive one, thankfully. My mother was a cold, distant woman, but she loved me. I was an only child.”
“Me too,” I say. “Ever wonder what life would’ve been like with a sibling?”
“Not really, no. I would’ve gotten even less attention. I already didn’t get much.” He tilts his head to the side. “Do you miss them? Your parents, I mean.”
“Sometimes,” I admit. “They’re selfish assholes though. Every time I think my mom’s coming around and finally starting to see just how fucked up she’s been, she disappoints me. I’m learning not to care.”
“That’s a shame,” he says softly. “That’s not the lesson you want to learn from your own family.”
I shrug, but don’t reply. Emotions swirl in me for some reason. I don’t know what I can say. My mother was a good mom growing up, but she clearly never wanted a kid and only married my dad because of me. Now they’re finding themselves together, which is great for them, but they’ve left me behind. It’s like I’m old enough to take care of myself, so now they don’t give a damn about me anymore. I clear my throat, straightening my spine. “Enough of my sad story. Your turn. Best friends?”
“Four of them.” He cocks his head at the look I give him. “Surprised?”
“Honestly, yes. You don’t strike me as the friend type.”
“I was part of a club in college. The Atlas Organization. We’re still very close.”
“Sounds like you sacrificed chickens to the dark lord Baal. What college?”
“Blackwoods.”
I whistle, eyebrows raising. “Impressive. How’d you manage that?”
“Luck. And good grades.”
“I went to dinky old University of Pennsylvania. That’s like scraps compared to Blackwoods.”
“We can’t all be geniuses, Fiona.”
I nudge him with my elbow. He grins in return as a strange comradery forms between us. There are strange commonalities—single child, normal-seeming parents, but some trauma in our past. He seems more interested in learning about me, which suggests he’s got something to hide, or at least something he doesn’t want to talk about. It’s curious; I’m tempted to press him. I find myself in the awkward position of wanting to know every detail about my closed-lipped husband.
We run close to each other, shoulders touching for a few paces before we’re forced apart by an old lady walking her little fluffy white dog.
When we come back together, he tells me about his friends. Carmine and Ford, both in the area with their wives; Evander, out in Chicago; and Lanzo, somewhere overseas. “They have unconventional jobs,” he says, frowning straight ahead.
I decide not to follow up on that, though I file it away for future questioning later. “My best friend lives out in Kentucky, and most of the people I knew in high school either moved out of state or are out in the suburbs still. It’s been hard the last year.”
“I can see why you’re such a wreck.”
I glare at him. “I’m a wreck because my apartment burned down, you asshole.”
“Right, of course, I shouldn’t have suggested otherwise.”
“You got into a lot of fights as a kid, didn’t you? I can imagine people are constantly trying to beat you up.”
“Not since I hit six foot,” he says with a smirk. “All right, wife, come on. Let’s get some coffee and take a break.” He slows down outside of a Starbucks. I stop with him, catching my breath. I want to give up on this stupid run and head back to the apartment, but I could use some caffeine. The sun’s barely over the horizon now, the weak morning light slanting through the buildings, reflecting off the sweat on his skin.
Despite being a huge prick, Gareth’s attractive. Absurdly attractive. The way he runs a hand through his hair to show off his toned biceps. His enormous chest muscles, his toned abs, his vein-wrapped forearms. God, those freaking forearms. I could lick those damn forearms.
I just wish he weren’t such an asshole.
At least he buys the coffee. Well, he has no choice, since I’m broke, but still.
“All right, let me ask you something now,” I say as we stand outside together on the sidewalk, sipping our drinks. “When you were a kid, what did you want to be when you grew up?”
He’s quiet for a long moment. “I wanted to work on computers.”
“Really?” I look at him, honestly surprised. “Were you sort of a nerd?”
“No, I wouldn’t say that.” He pauses, staring into the distance. “My family didn’t have much money back then. But one day, when I was around six or seven, my dad came home with this old computer a client was throwing out. He cleaned it up, plugged it in, and that changed my life. It opened a world for me. We got America Online, I surfed the web, learned about networking, got really into hardware. I had that computer for years, even well past its prime. I fell in love with it, with what it could represent, and although I moved on from that as I got older… that’s what I wanted to do with my life. Computers, internet. All those possibilities.”