Total pages in book: 79
Estimated words: 76272 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 381(@200wpm)___ 305(@250wpm)___ 254(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 76272 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 381(@200wpm)___ 305(@250wpm)___ 254(@300wpm)
The answer comes to me loud and clear. “No…I haven’t been in love with her in a long time––and it’s a good thing.”
“Why? W-Why is it a g-good thing?”
Everything dies. Everyone leaves. Even if they don’t mean to––they leave. This is why you shouldn’t love anything, or anyone.
Abruptly, she looks over at me with a deep frown etched in her forehead. “You r-really believe that?”
“Believe what?” I ask, genuinely confused as to why she’s looking at me like I drown puppies for kicks.
“You s-said this is why you s-shouldn’t love anyone––because they die.”
Shit. “Did I say that out loud?”
She nods. I should smooth it over with a lie. Apologize. That would be the smart thing to do. And yet something inside of me rebels at the notion. The lie won’t come out. But the truth does.
“It’s true, isn’t it? Every relationship ends badly. With someone dying or leaving. With someone feeling shitty...”
She’s quiet for a while and doubt begins to take root. Maybe I said too much. It strikes me as ironic that if she were to walk away from me now, if she decided I wasn’t worth the trouble, it would hurt. It would hurt a lot.
“No…I m-mean, yes––things do end. P-People die. But love is always worth it…even if it lasts for only a-a short a-amount of time.”
“Yeah, you think it’s that simple?”
She smiles at me and I want to believe her. I want her to convince me. I want her. All of her.
“I d-do…I think it should be that simple.”
Dora looks back out at the open road with a soft smile on her face and a firm grip on her convictions.
The simple truth is that I’m falling in love with her.
Chapter Nineteen
Dora
The rest of the drive to the Post Ranch Inn is conducted in total silence. Somewhere along the way the sexual tension rises and rises until it’s sky high.
A date…he definitely said a date. Do friends take friends out on dates, or do I dare hope for more? Why does love have to be so complicated? My delicate, fragile, hungry heart can’t take much more of this.
By the time I pull the car into the parking lot, it’s dusk. This place is so surreal, so absolutely stunning, I can’t stop staring with my jaw hanging open.
“It’s…it’s a-amazing, Dallas. So beautiful.” It’s the kill shot, rendering me powerless to do anything other than to love him.
In the dark cab of the car, I sit and stare at the scenery until I can’t take it anymore. My head turns slowly and finds him watching me with a twinkle in his eyes.
“Not as beautiful as you,” he murmurs. No joking around. No sly smile. Just brutal honesty. My heart may not survive his honesty. “You can kiss me if you want to…”
I want to. I want to so badly that I jump him, silencing my doubts with my mouth and tongue. Enough is enough. We’ve been dancing around this for months. I’m tired of waiting. He’s giving new definition to the term edging.
“W-We don’t n-need to talk about it. We don’t n-need to name it. We j-just need to let it happen,” I tell him in case he gets cold feet that I’ll get clingy and demand he marry me immediately.
Wrapping my hands around his face, his skin smooth under my fingertips, I kiss him and he kisses me back, moaning like he’s been waiting all his life to taste my lips. To call my car small and cramped wouldn’t do it justice. I try to straddle him and can barely fit my legs around his lap.
“Okay”––kiss––“this”––kiss––“is too cramped,” he mutters. “I can’t perform miracles in this car, but gimme a bed and you’ll be walking on water when I’m done with you.”
I pull back––my lips as swollen as his, my hair a rat’s nest of a mess with the way he’s raking his fingers through it––and I smile so hard my face nearly breaks. “Promise?”
“Cross my heart.” He pushes the passenger door open and we both nearly fall out. Thankfully, he catches me before I can wipe the concrete with my face.
Two minutes later, we’re walking through the doors of the very fancy Post Ranch Inn, both of us looking fit for an involuntary commitment. My hair is teased out, my shirt wrinkled. I’m flushed like I just stuck my face in a steam room. Dallas looks worse: lips swollen and red from my assault, hair wilder than ever. The looks we get make me giggle.
The doorman treats us to some seriously suspicious scrutiny. I can’t blame him. Judging by the people in the lobby, we’re probably the youngest guests here and tragically underdressed.
“Welcome, Mr. Van Zant,” the pretty concierge greets when she reads the name off of Dallas’s black Amex. She keeps stealing glances at him while she types. “Your family is well? Hope they come back to visit us soon.”