Total pages in book: 91
Estimated words: 86431 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 432(@200wpm)___ 346(@250wpm)___ 288(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 86431 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 432(@200wpm)___ 346(@250wpm)___ 288(@300wpm)
Records was located downtown, so he thankfully didn’t have to work in the same building as her, but the police grapevine was a real hot wire, and she was usually privy to his bigger missions. When his team was in high demand, and they were pulling long shifts, she’d somehow always know and would drop off a dish, or try to tidy up when he wasn’t there. While he appreciated it, it sent the wrong message. He’d told her numerous times that he didn’t want her trying to still run his life, but like always, she didn’t listen to what he had to say. He wasn’t looking forward to having another conversation with her about coming and going without notice, as if she still lived there. It was no longer her house, her kitchen to clean, or her bed to make. As he scooped a big fork-full of the lasagna and put it into his mouth, he wondered how the hell he could have a relationship with a man when he had a meddling ex.
He wrapped some plastic wrap over the half he didn’t eat and put it in the refrigerator. He poured himself two fingers of Dewar’s whiskey, grabbed another bottle of cold water and turned the lights off. He shook his head at his recently cleaned bedroom. He’d been in such a hurry to leave for his assignment that he hadn’t had the chance to be neat about it. But, he’d had every intention of cleaning it when he returned. The clothes he’d had strewn across the unmade bed and the floor had been picked up, washed and hung back in his closet. The bed had been stripped and re-covered with a different comforter. Where the ’hell’d she find that thing? It was a floral print duvet with lace around the edges that she’d often used in the summers. Hart took the itchy blanket he’d always hated and yanked it off the bed and tossed it into the corner. He’d tell her she was welcome to it.
The more he moved around his room the more upset he became. Everything was in its perfect place…according to her. When he went in the bathroom he almost let out a vicious growl. His products and grooming kit had been moved. No doubt underneath the sink as she’d regularly insisted. He bent down and pulled his things out, then his electric toothbrush, and placed them back where he’d left them.
He felt a little more relaxed after he’d finished in the bathroom. He’d washed up at the station, but it was nothing like using his turbo massaging shower head at home. It was only eleven, he didn’t typically turn in so early, usually spending a few hours in his office researching cases, or organizing his team. But tonight, he wanted to slip under his soft, clean sheets and think about the possibilities of him having a male lover for the first time. Just the thought had him thickening in his shorts. He’d known he was attracted to men the first time he’d been in the locker room after football practice and Ricky Thompson had been demonstrating how forcefully he’d screwed his girl the night before, and Hart’s dick had turned to granite. The way Ricky had repeatedly thrust his lean hips back and forth had put him in such a state that he’d had to run to the showers and cool off.
But one lapse in judgment trying to deny what he knew in his heart had cost him a lot of years of stress. All of his wedded years hadn’t been hell, there’d been a few good times. Trips back home to Lubbock to visit family. A cruise to nowhere, they did that twice. A vacation in Jamaica. And a few dinner parties by her church friends who weren’t all as torturous as nails on a chalkboard. If only Teresa had let him have a say, things might’ve turned out differently.
No more waiting and delaying. He was seizing his life back. Hart took his double shot off his night stand and threw it back, enjoying the strong liquor burning his insides. A little liquid courage for him. He picked up his cell and texted God.
Hart: I’m gonna ask Free if he wants a tour of the headquarters at the end of the week. He sent an angry gif of rapper Ice Cube making his classic angry snarl, then typed.
Hart: You better NOT have him working late.
Hart laughed, anticipating God’s reply. The man hated gifs almost as much as he hated emoticons. So naturally, Hart flooded their message thread with them. Sometimes, he wouldn’t text back words, he’d only answer his friend with gifs just to piss him off more.
God: Fuck off.
Hart sent a gif of a Chris Pratt slowly cranking up his middle finger.