Total pages in book: 64
Estimated words: 60736 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 304(@200wpm)___ 243(@250wpm)___ 202(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 60736 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 304(@200wpm)___ 243(@250wpm)___ 202(@300wpm)
He gives me a funny look. “Of course, sir. You alright?”
A little corner of the sleeve of her red dress is hanging over the cart. “Just get it out of here?”
He gives me a nod and I close the door.
It’s Sunday. No one’s working, and I haven’t got shit to do. I need a distraction. I pick up the phone, dialing my brother. He picks up on the fifth ring.
“Hey, bro!”
“Hey, man. What are you up to today?”
I hear Katie, his wife, giggling in the background. They get a babysitter sometimes on Saturday night and go to the hotel to live out their early days together. “Just hanging with my girl. What are you up to?” I can hear the sound of him kissing her, tickling her.
It makes me miss Emmeline. A pain tears through my chest. Nah, I don’t think we need to chat after all. “Hey, I’ve got another call coming in. Talk to you later?” I disconnect before he can answer.
I could call my friends, but they’re all hanging with their significant others. Do I even have any single friends? I come up short, settling for ordering up hot wings and watching a football game by myself. I fall asleep, Baskins snoring under my arm, the blue glow from the television screen flashing through the room.
Monday sucks. Tuesday sucks ass. Wednesday is worse. I wake up thinking I feel better on Thursday, she’s not the very first thing that comes to my mind when I open my eyes, but then I’m thinking about not thinking about her and once again, she’s all I can fucking think about.
Friday, I go out with the guys, have drinks and play a little poker, but even the cards on the table remind me of her standing by my side at the Craps table.
Then roll an eight, daddy.
This fucking apartment feels vast, massive, empty like a cold warehouse with her. I can’t go to the Vegas, Baby penthouse—that would be worse, the memory of her all over that place. I think about going back home to Georgia, to stay with my grandmother for a few days, but work is going well and I don’t want to fuck that up too.
Saturday morning I finally hit the gym for the first time all week. After an hour of an intense workout, I feel a little better. I wipe the sweat from my brow, ready to hit the showers when my phone notifies me I’ve gotten a text.
For a second, I wonder if it could be her.
Jesus, man. Get a hold of yourself.
It’s from Lexi.
Don’t forget my friend is bringing the cat by at noon
Thanks again for the favor
Shit.
With all this Emmeline stuff on my mind I totally forgot that I committed to taking Lexi’s friend’s cat in for a few months. Baskins won’t mind and I’m already paying a pet sitter, so it's no inconvenience.
Lexi said it’s an old cat and shouldn’t be a bother. I check the time. Quarter to twelve. I’ll have to forego the shower and head home to meet the chick with the cat.
I could use the equipment in the workout room on the first floor of my building, but I like the walk to my gym. I hustle, my bag over my shoulder, bouncing against my hip as I make my way back to my apartment.
I’ve just given the dog a pat and put my bag away when there’s a timid knock at the door. “Coming!” I inwardly groan. I’m gross and sweaty. But whatever. I’m doing this girl a favor, surely she doesn’t care what I smell like.
I reach the door, running my hand through my still sweaty hair, leaving it standing on end. I open the door and freeze.
No way. No fucking way.
Standing right in my doorway—with those green eyes pulling me in, those full lips begging to be kissed, that dark hair tumbling over her shoulders, just waiting for my hand to wrap around and pull her into me—Emmeline.
She holds a massive orange cat in her arms. He gives me a bored look and a disdainful, strangled meow.
Emmeline’s mouth opens, then closes, then opens again. “It’s…you.”
I sweep my arm through the doorway, inviting her in. “Ah—come on in.”
She gives me an unsure look, holding the cat tighter to her chest.
“I’m good with pets,” I say lamely. “Come in.” My voice is husky, gruffer than I intend. I don’t know what to say, what to do, how to make her comfortable in this moment. Baskins saves the awkward moment by padding up to us, giving Emmeline a deep woof of a greeting.
I’m completely forgotten.
Emmeline pushes past me, kneeling down in front of Baskins. “Oh my, aren’t you just the most handsome little gentleman!” She holds her cat up to his face.
They give one another a sniff. Then, they touch noses.