Total pages in book: 104
Estimated words: 98134 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 491(@200wpm)___ 393(@250wpm)___ 327(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 98134 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 491(@200wpm)___ 393(@250wpm)___ 327(@300wpm)
Jesse sighs. “I don’t…” he pauses. “I don’t know how to explain this situation, exactly. But, no. It’s nothing like that.”
She eyes him, amusement sparkling in her eyes. “Oh, sure. When I asked you to go to that Halloween party with me, you were still too heartbroken to say ‘yes’. I guess I just missed your recovery window by a couple months, huh?”
I bulge my eyes a little, feeling suddenly uncomfortable. On the one hand, I feel bad for her. On the other hand, the curious part of me–which is admittedly maybe one of the biggest parts of me, aside from my ass the morning after I eat ice cream, that is–wants to know more about this “heartbreak”. I try to imagine a woman who has a guy like Jesse Prince in her life. Gorgeous, hockey star, apparently quite the gentleman. Why would someone break his heart?
“Come on,” Jesse says to me. He leads me toward the fitting rooms.
I smirk at him when he stops in front of the door. “Were you planning to come in with me and make sure these fit?” I ask, holding up the pack of panties with my fingertip.
Jesse’s eyes blaze. “No. I just didn’t know if you knew where the fitting rooms were.”
“Okay. Mind bringing me that dress and waiting here in case I need a different size?”
He looks like he wants to refuse, but he just nods his head and goes to get the dress. I’m impressed when he brings me the exact one I asked him about and in the size I was holding. Apparently, he was paying attention.
It takes me a lot of effort and grunting before I realize I’m not getting out of my dress entirely without help. I can’t manage the zipper in the back, and I feel like a walking cliché at this point, but I slowly crack open the door to the dressing room. “Jesse?” I ask.
“What?” he breathes. It’s kind of adorable how uncomfortable this is all making him.
“I’m sorry to ask, but could you please help me with my zipper?” I turn around and gesture toward the zipper running down my back with both thumbs.
He wordlessly takes the zipper and pulls it down. I can’t decide if there’s any way he could’ve done it without it feeling erotic. But the way he slowly pulls it down makes me imagine his eyes drifting down my bare back as the zipper trails in its path. Some little part of me feels guilty about all this. But when I think back on the last few months, it feels like I was already single, as crazy as that sounds.
Landon and I were always the type to avoid rocking the boat. Rocking boats is a good way to sink them, after all. Before Landon, some outside disaster always seemed to end my relationships so I didn’t have to. Once, I had a boyfriend realize he was asexual and wanted to go explore Buddhism. I’ll admit, it was hard not to see that one was some kind of personal attack. I had another boyfriend who was running a secret Pokemon card crime syndicate and bailed on me when the law was getting too close. Then again, that could have just been the most believable story he could think of to explain why he was with a different woman a week later in another state. I once even dated a guy who watched a documentary on hunting for gold in Alaska and he decided it was his life’s mission to strike gold himself. Last I heard, he was not having much luck.
“Are you… okay?” Jesse asks.
“Huh?” I say.
“You’re crying.”
“Oh,” I laugh. For some reason, he’s right. I wipe at my eye and shake my head. “I’m fine. I’m not crying because of the guy, if that’s what you’re wondering.”
“If you need to talk…” he says the words softly, and there’s enough empathy in them to practically break my heart.
Where did this guy come from?
He stops the zipper a few inches above the small of my back. A gentleman, again.
I give a quick smile and pull the door of the dressing room closed. “I just keep looking back and trying to pinpoint the moment it went wrong, I guess.”
“Would it fix anything if you knew?” he asks. For some reason, he’s asking like there’s more than just idle curiosity behind his words.
“I mean, it’s not like I never cared about Landon. Things were really good for a while. And it was like the magic died piece by piece. It all happened so slow it never seemed obvious in the moment, you know?”
“Sure,” he says.
“I guess I’m crying because I feel bad for letting it get so far along. Like I had my wedding dress on and I think it hit me all at once. I didn’t love him anymore. Maybe I did at some point. And it all just made me wonder how the hell you’re supposed to get it right. Before him, it was all apocalyptic, obvious reasons to break up. With Landon, it was something new but just as deadly. Slow, creeping death. Apocolyptic death.” I laugh and there’s no humor in the sound. “Makes you wonder if it’s even possible to still love someone by the time you make it to the altar.”