Total pages in book: 130
Estimated words: 131728 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 659(@200wpm)___ 527(@250wpm)___ 439(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 131728 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 659(@200wpm)___ 527(@250wpm)___ 439(@300wpm)
“We’re just friends, Henley,” I remind him to try and act tough.
“With benefits.” He smirks. “Don’t forget those.”
I roll my eyes and start my car. How could I ever forget those? My vagina is broken.
With a casual wave, I pull out onto the road, and as I drive away, I watch him disappear in the rearview mirror. The farther I drive away from him, the more I want to turn around and go back.
Damn it . . . he’s perfect.
“What about these jeans?” I take them off the rack and show Rebecca.
She twists her lips. “Too blue.”
I exhale heavily. Chloe, Rebecca, and I are shopping. John is taking Rebecca away next weekend, and she wants some new clothes. She’s trying to get the spark back in their marriage.
“I really think he likes me.” Chloe smiles.
“Who?” I frown.
“Blake.” She rolls her eyes. “Have you been listening to me at all?”
Not really.
“Tell me what happened again?”
“He was going out, and then he saw Rebecca and I on your porch, and he came over to talk to us.”
“Yes.” I listen as I flick through the rack of jeans.
“He ended up staying with us all night drinking cocktails on your porch, and Antony came over, too, and we played cards.”
“So he didn’t go out at all?” I frown.
“Nope.” Chloe smiles hopefully.
“I wouldn’t be getting excited over him,” Rebecca says. “He’s a serious player. Why would you want to set yourself up for heartbreak with someone like him?”
“All bad men come good eventually.” Chloe smiles hopefully.
I roll my eyes and keep hunting for jeans. “What about these ones?” I hold a black pair up.
“I’ve got black already.”
“Why are we buying jeans? Why aren’t we buying crotchless panties and lingerie?” Chloe says.
“True.”
“You think?” Rebecca frowns. “Is that going too far?”
“He’s your husband, and you said you wanted the spark back.”
“I do.”
“Well, jeans are not going to do that.” Chloe rolls her eyes. “Dear lord, there is no such thing as too fucking far.” She stomps off toward the escalator to go up to the lingerie floor.
Rebecca links her arm through mine. “So how was last night, anyway?” she asks.
“My god, Rebecca.” I smile dreamily. “He is . . . so . . .” I pause as I search for the right word. “Amazing.”
“Be careful with him,” she warns. “This whole thing makes me nervous for you.”
“I am,” I lie. “He’s cooking me dinner tonight.”
She gives me a crooked smile. “I don’t want you to get hurt.”
“I won’t.”
Her phone beeps a text, and she pulls it out and reads it, lets out a deep exhale, and then stuffs her phone into her pocket. “Fuck’s sake.”
“What’s up?” I ask.
“John is working tonight after golf.”
“On a Sunday? Since when do orthopedic surgeons operate on a Sunday night?” I frown.
“That’s exactly what I was thinking.”
“You really think he’s cheating on you?”
She shrugs. “My gut tells me he is. There’s just too many anomalies in his stories.”
God, I can’t imagine being in her shoes.
“What are you going to do?”
“Try and save my marriage.”
I put my arm around her and kiss her temple as we walk toward the escalator in search of Chloe. “It’s going to work out, Bec. I’m sure there’s a reasonable excuse for all of this.”
She nods sadly. “I really hope so.”
Showered, primped, and primed, with the dinner ingredients lined up on the kitchen counter, I am ready for my dinner date with the chef.
I peer through the kitchen window. “Where is he?” I wanted to get my washing off the line, but I’ve been waiting for him to arrive before I do it, and it’s going to be dark soon. Guaranteed, the moment I go out into the backyard, he will knock on my front door.
I’ll just have to wait.
I make another cup of tea and sit on the couch and wait.
My mind goes over our date last night and how perfect he is. He better show up tonight.
Damn it. I begin to worry about his whereabouts. He should have been here by now. He has stood me up before.
Tap, tap sounds at the back door, and relief fills me.
He’s here.
I walk out into the kitchen to see him standing at my back door, in blue jeans and a white T-shirt and wearing that beautiful smile. I open the door in a rush. “Hello, Mr. James. You don’t have to knock.”
Mischief flashes across his face. “So I can just barge in whenever I want?”
“You do anyway.” I step to the side, and he walks past me.
“When do I barge in?” he gasps, affronted.
“Whenever Joel is here.”
“Because he’s a fucking idiot.”
“Who’s touching your stuff?” I tease.
“Precisely.” He kicks off his shoes and walks into my kitchen. “How did you do with the ingredients?”
“Good, I got everything.”
He looks over the things out on the counter. “Where are the lemons?”
“Oh.” I twist my lips. “Were they on the list?”