Total pages in book: 141
Estimated words: 134212 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 671(@200wpm)___ 537(@250wpm)___ 447(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 134212 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 671(@200wpm)___ 537(@250wpm)___ 447(@300wpm)
Turning my eyes to his, I plan on scowling, but when I find his green eyes firing off sparks, his lips stretched in that adorable smile, my plan fails and I wind up smiling back at him. “Show-off.”
“I get a lot of practice.” He shrugs. “I’ll let you win next time.”
Snorting, I hang my cue up on the rack. “I don’t like this game. Let’s do something else.”
“Like?”
I ponder that for a few minutes, scanning his bar. Darts? I’ll lose. PAC-MAN? I’ll lose. The jukebox? I’m not up for embarrassing myself with my diabolical dance moves. My shoulders slump as the colossal TV comes into my view. And I have the best idea. “We’ll watch Grease,” I declare.
“That TV is dedicated to sport.” Obviously Luke doesn’t like my idea. “It’s terrible enough you’re in here without approved membership from all board members. You’re not putting a girlie film on my sports TV.” He hangs up his cue and heads for the bar. “More wine?”
“Please.” I find the remote control on the bar, turning the TV on while Luke gets our drinks. “Oh look.” I find what I’m looking for on a streaming network and load. “Oops.”
Looking up at the screen, he groans. “Fine. But if Todd asks, this never happened.”
“It never happened,” I say on a sigh, expressing how stupid I think his rules are.
“Popcorn?”
“Sure.” I take my wine and park myself on the huge leather couch. “Sweet or salted?” I ask. “And we can’t be friends if you say salted.”
“Always sweet.” Luke leaves the room as I smile, returning moments later with two big bowls of the fluffy stuff, lowering to the other end of the couch. I press play and kick my shoes off as he passes me a bowl. “Here.” He collects my feet and sets them on his lap, and I recline back, starting to munch my way through my popcorn.
“It’s been years since I watched this,” I tell him, settling in. Luke sinks back into the couch, resting his bowl on the tops of my feet. I don’t want to count my chickens, but he looks immediately engrossed as I study him watching one of my favorites. “Luke,” I call quietly, tearing his attention from the TV. He looks across to me and the piece of popcorn I’m holding, dropping his mouth open. I aim, fire, and he catches, smiling as he chews.
“Thanks.” Moving my feet, he mirrors me, reclining at the other end so we’re facing each other. “Open.”
I do as I’m told and he shoots. And scores. And that’s what we do for the next hour, our attention split between Grease and the popcorn we’re throwing at each other. Luke catches every piece. I do not.
“My phone,” he mumbles, stretching back to reach it on the table. He frowns down at the screen.
“Who is it?”
“Todd,” he says, answering my question as he answers his mobile. Luke goes stiff, throwing me wide eyes.
“What?” I mouth, pausing the movie.
Scrambling up, he casts his bowl aside. “Amanda?”
I hear the sound of a woman’s voice filter down the line, and I see how uncomfortable Luke is. So I kick him in the thigh and grin when he gives me a look as if to ask what to do.
“Why are you on Todd’s phone?” he asks, and I wait, curious. “You bumped into him?” He rolls his eyes. “No, not tonight. I said Monday, remember?” Luke falls back on the couch again and rubs his palm across his forehead. “I really can’t.”
I kick him again and tell him silently to go, but he shakes his head, so I continue to push popcorn into my mouth with a lack of Luke’s mouth to chuck it at, listening as he talks with his latest woman. He eventually hangs up and looks at me. “Sorry.”
Why’s he sorry? “You should go meet her.”
“I already told her I’m busy this weekend.” He drops his phone on the couch and resumes his position, holding up a piece of popcorn. I open and catch it when he throws. “Lo, I think we have another needy nutter on our hands.”
I laugh and toss him some popcorn. “Ever considered the fact that you might make them crazy?” I hold back my grin when he gives me an indignant look. “Just saying. If you had answered her calls, she wouldn’t have stalked you through your mate.”
“Stalked. Exactly. We’ve had sex a few times. Besides, I was busy.”
My hand pauses midway to my mouth. Busy rescuing me. He’s young, free, and single. Well, young . . . ish. He shouldn’t be holed up at home on a Saturday night babysitting me. I fall silent and try to remind myself that I’m apparently a breath of fresh air to him. But deep inside, I can’t help but think that he really does feel a sense of obligation. Maybe he thinks I’ll try to top myself again. Maybe he does just feel sorry for me. I drop my eyes to my lap and see endless stray puffs of popcorn littering it, all bits I failed to catch when Luke chucked them at me. I’ve smiled more since I’ve met Luke than I have in two years. I shouldn’t be smiling. I flinch as my thoughts run away with me. What am I doing here? This isn’t my life, and I shouldn’t pretend it is, not even for a fleeting second. Cleaning up shit, that’s my life. Dealing with shit. Feeling like shit. Looking like shit. I wince at my thoughts again, feeling so very guilty for letting them go there. Billy’s staring death in the face, and here I am grumbling about shit on every level of my life while trying to justify my decision to escape from it all for a while. There is no justification, especially where Luke’s concerned. Not the sense of freedom I feel with him. Not the temporary escape from my real-life horror story. Nothing is a good enough reason. Billy can’t escape. What if he tries to look for me? What if he decides he wants company now? Deep down I know he won’t. He’ll be exhausted after his outburst. He’ll probably sleep for a week and be in more pain. For the past two years I’ve sat downstairs alone at night hoping my husband will come and join me. Simply sit with me. Maybe even hold my hand. Just be there. It’s happening less often these days. These days, I go to bed feeling lonelier each night. Tonight wouldn’t have been any different. Well, except I would have spent an hour cleaning meat, cheese, sauce, and wine off my kitchen floor, table, and cupboards. I probably would have got a few cuts from broken glass. I would have thrown away a lasagna dish we received as a wedding gift. In fact, that whole scene, that scattered, broken, and shattered mess is the closest reflection of my actual life. I would have been faced with silence and loneliness. All I need is to pretend that my existence isn’t what it is for a short while. To be with someone who doesn’t know the complete tatters my life is in.