Total pages in book: 64
Estimated words: 61532 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 308(@200wpm)___ 246(@250wpm)___ 205(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 61532 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 308(@200wpm)___ 246(@250wpm)___ 205(@300wpm)
“How’s Charles?” I ask as he closes my door and walks around to his side.
“He’s good. He’s a baby.”
I roll my eyes at him. “Of course, he is. But how is he?”
Darby starts the car and pulls out of his spot, fast. “What’s with the chitchat, Olympia?”
“Should I not speak, big man? Is that how you like your women? Quiet and subservient?”
He nods his head. “Yes. Now if you could ever so kindly shut up the rest of the way home, I’d greatly appreciate it.”
His words cut deep. The words the boys said ring through my head—he doesn’t like me. I was just a convenience for him at the time. Someone who was willing to have sex with him, but he wants nothing more. My arms cross over my chest as I watch out the window, getting closer to my apartment.
“Look…” he starts.
“Shut up, Darby. You fuck with my head, and all I was doing was asking how your baby was.” I don’t turn when I speak, and my apartment comes into view.
“Olympia…” I open the car door and don’t look his way or even glance up.
My name is muttered, but it’s not from Darby. When I look up, a soft hand touches me as Slate stands there saying my name.
I shut the door of Darby’s car, slide my hand into Slate’s, and pull him to the door.
And I don’t look back.
21
Darby
Who the fuck is that! And why the fuck is he looking at her like that? I’ve seen that look plenty of times—it comes from a man in love. All of my boys have that look when they stare at their women, and when a man gets too close, their eyes squint and their lips thin in anger. Which is exactly the way he’s staring at me as she pulls him toward her door of her apartment. I’m almost tempted to get out and ask her who it is, but the way she clasps his hand, I get it. This one isn’t a brother, that’s for sure, he’s something more, of that I am certain.
I stay seated in the car until the both of them are out of sight and contemplate my options. My hand touches the gearshift, and I rev the car, pulling out and flying down her street only to come to a screeching halt at the end and turning around.
I have no right. This is what I have to tell myself. This is what I’m reminding myself of as I press call on my phone and her voice rings through the car.
“What do you need?” is all she says.
“Come back down here. Now.”
“I’m busy. And I’m not some plaything you get to boss around, boss.” She hangs up so I ring again. “You’re just going to keep ringing until I come down there, aren’t you?”
“Yes.”
“Well, you can come up. I’m not coming down, and I’m about to hop in the shower.” She hangs up again, so I park the car and start the walk to her apartment—well, penthouse is what I’d call it. The elevator takes me to her door, and when I open it, the guy who had her hand is standing there. His arms are firmly crossed over his chest as he assesses me. “She’s showering.” I nod, not saying a word to him. “Why didn’t you just drive off?” he asks as he reaches for a glass next to him, taking a sip before gripping it tighter in his hand.
“We have unfinished business.”
“You want her.”
“And who are you?” I ask, my stance not changing, my eyes watching his every move.
He gazes into his glass as he speaks, “I was her first love, she is my last love.”
“You talk as if it’s right now. Yet, she hasn’t mentioned you to me, at all.”
“No, she wouldn’t.” The way he says it holds pain. His eyes look up to me. “I can see you like her, I’m not blind. And you’d be silly not to. She has something very special about her that pulls you in and locks you hard. Trust me, I know. I was head over heels for her, and if she told me right now she wants me back, I would be hers, even if I have moved on and found someone who loves me the way I need to be loved. But that’s the enigma of someone you love more than you love yourself…” He pauses. “Have you ever loved someone more than you love yourself?”
“My son.” I don’t see the point in lying.
“How old?” He seems interested, not fake interested.
“Four months old.”
“We had a baby. Did she tell you that?”
Everything goes quiet.
Everything.
Then she walks out, looks from the guy sitting in front of me to me.
“Slate, what did you say?”
He shakes his head as I turn to her.
“You had a baby?” I ask. Her eyes go wide and her face changes—something so deep, so life-changing, and so much pain passes through her face that I want to take back my words, but I can’t.