Total pages in book: 108
Estimated words: 103109 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 516(@200wpm)___ 412(@250wpm)___ 344(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 103109 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 516(@200wpm)___ 412(@250wpm)___ 344(@300wpm)
“Dear no. They’re an odd couple, but they moved in right after their wedding five years ago and have been living there together since.”
“They weren’t . . . separated or something? Recently, I mean.” I force a laugh. “I’m so silly. I thought she was single and would’ve felt so bad not getting enough tickets!”
She waves a hand. “You’re just confused because her husband works out of town a few days a week.” She straightens as if realizing this was a poor choice of information to share with a suspicious stranger. “You should probably get going before someone thinks you’re up to no good. Just find her during her office hours, and don’t bother her at home.”
“Right. You’re absolutely right, of course. Thank you so much.”
I’ve been sleeping with a married man. And they’re not just married. They’re married and have a child together. It’s unreal. My brain refuses to process it. I feel like I’m watching a TV show or having a nightmare. Every time I try to process what I’ve done, my mind pushes it away. That’s not me. I wouldn’t do that.
But I have. And I can’t take it back.
I leave the neighborhood and pull into the fueling station just before the interstate. I throw the car in park, put my head on the steering wheel, and cry.
Easton
“What kind of man goes house-hunting with his ex?” Maven asks, horror all over that pretty face women love. I met him in downtown Chicago this morning for brunch, a much-needed reprieve from Scarlett and her eccentric housing tastes.
I shrug. “A man who wants his kid to be within a few hours of her mom?”
“Better man than me,” he mutters. “She planning to live in Chicago full-time?”
“Nah, she’s planning to split her time between Chicago and L.A. But who knows what will end up happening? You know Scarlett.”
“That I do,” he says, grabbing his menu.
I follow my buddy’s lead and try to figure out what I want for breakfast. The place is nice, but one look at all the fancy “waffle sundaes” on the menu is a blow to the gut. Shit like that makes me miss my daughter even more intensely. I talked to her last night, and she’s doing great. It’s not like she’s unaccustomed to me being away, but I’m ready for us to settle into our life in Jackson Harbor and for time apart to become the exception.
“You can bring Abi down here next month,” Maven says, reading my damn mind. He and I played together on the Demons for three years before he was traded to Chicago two years ago. He was my favorite receiver, and when they replaced him, I felt like I was being asked to win games without one of my arms.
I tap my menu, pointing to a picture of a chocolate, maple, bacon, and whipped cream waffle monstrosity. “I’m telling you now, this is the one she’d get. And then her mom would freak that I let her have sugar.”
He laughs. “Well, take a damn pic of it and text it to her. Tell her Uncle Maven is going to treat her when she comes to visit.”
“Done.”
“Two coffees,” our waitress says. She slides our steaming mugs on the table and pulls out a small notebook. “Have you had a chance to look at the menu?”
“We’ll need a minute,” Maven says. He gives her a lascivious once-over. “Everything looks so good.”
The waitress blushes. “I’ll be right back, then.”
I narrow my eyes at him. “Really? You can’t make it through breakfast without hitting on our damn waitress?”
Maven grins. “I mean, I could, but why would I want to?”
I grunt and look back down to my menu, only to see a familiar form in my periphery. “You’ve got to be kidding me.”
Maven follows my gaze—obvious as hell, but I don’t actually care. “What?”
Professor Douche slides into the booth across from us. Fucking awesome. This is exactly how I want to spend my morning.
“Who’s that?”
“Professor Douche,” I mutter. “What the hell is he doing here?”
Maven’s eyes go wide, and he gives Shay’s guy a dismissive once-over before turning back to me. “Speaking of, how is the love life?”
I tear my attention off George and focus on Mav. “What love life?”
“Oh, now you’re going to pretend you weren’t hoping to get back together with the best friend’s little sister? What’s wrong? Did it turn out she’s serious about Mr. Manbun?”
“Serious enough about him that she won’t talk to me.” I squeeze the back of my neck. Hell, Shay’s refusal to talk to me probably has nothing to do with George Alby and everything to do with how I fucked up.
A flash of blond hair in my periphery sends my attention back to Professor Douche’s table. He stands to greet her and . . . holy fucking shit, he’s kissing her. Like, open-mouth, face-eating, should-probably-get-a-room kissing.