Total pages in book: 81
Estimated words: 77005 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 385(@200wpm)___ 308(@250wpm)___ 257(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 77005 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 385(@200wpm)___ 308(@250wpm)___ 257(@300wpm)
“I went to see my father. He’s a cop. LAPD Captain. My mother’s in town and she wants to see me. I don’t know what to do about her,” I continue, the dark coupled with my silent companion acting like sodium pentothal. “My mother left us when I was six. I don’t have a relationship with her. I mean, I do, just not…” How do I even begin to describe what we are? “I don’t trust her at all…”
I glance over to see if he’s sleeping at this point. He’s so quiet I wouldn’t be surprised if he is. Except he isn’t. He’s very much awake and staring at me.
“Did seeing your father help?” he finally says.
“I dunno… I just found out he’s still stuck on her, so it’s hard getting an objective answer. I don’t know why. She’s so self-absorbed… after all these years, you would think those feelings would fade.”
“I love her, and it is the beginning of everything…” he murmurs.
“Did you write that? Because if you did, then maybe you should be writing romance instead of military thrillers.”
His mouth hitches up on one side and he shakes his head. “Fitzgerald did…to his wife Zelda.”
Nerves get the better of me and my fingers play with the edge of my skirt. I stretch out my legs. “I read somewhere that if you’re stuck in the past you’re likely to be depressed. If you’re constantly anticipating the future, you’re filled with anxiety. But if you live in the present moment, then you’re at peace. Do you believe that?”
After another long painful pause––painful for me, that is. He’s as chill as he could possibly be. He says, “I think we live all three simultaneously and choose where to focus.”
“That’s good. I can see why you’re so successful.”
“Give your old man a break. Love is…complicated.”
An image of the woman he had dinner with all those weeks ago flashes before my eyes. She looked heartbroken over him––that’s certainly true. I wonder if that’s who he’s thinking about right now. A gorgeous woman whose heart he broke. I wonder if it’s regret I see on his face.
“It’s really not, though. Love doesn’t have different rules for different people. Being there for someone you say you love is part of the deal.”
He tips his head back and watches me under hooded eyes. “Some people can’t switch it on and off.”
“You speaking from experience?” I dare ask. I don’t know where I’m finding the nerve to be this forward. Maybe it’s the dark. Maybe I’m finally finding the courage I lost that night four years ago. Either way, there’s no turning back now.
He hooks an arm up, his hand sliding under his head. His bicep bulges, straining against the sleeve of the t-shirt he’s wearing. “I don’t know how to switch it on.”
That’s a lie if ever I’ve heard one. Either he’s lying to me or he’s lying to himself.
“You know what your problem is, Hughes?”
He schools the smile trying to grow on his face while his eyes return to the bottom of the tumbler cradled in his palm. “You’re gonna psychoanalyze me? Let’s hear it,” he says. Slowly, he raises the glass to his lips and wraps them around the edge. “The suspense is killing me.”
No one who memorizes quotes like the one he just recited has a hard time falling in love. Not buying it. “You’re a romantic.”
His eyes flicker up to me. There’s a glimmer of surprise in there that instantly gets stashed away. Even this is too much. He won’t allow anyone to see anything too personal. Everything’s locked up so tight I’m exhausted just thinking about it.
“Sweetheart, I’m Irish. It’s practically a requirement.”
I get up and smooth the wrinkles out of my short skirt. If I stay any longer, my mouth is liable to get me into serious trouble. Shane’s eyes travel slowly and deliberately up my bare legs, all the way to my face.
“Are you?”
“A romantic?”
He nods.
“Yes,” I answer truthfully, a sweet ache resonating in my chest. “Takes one to know one.”
“Cruella loved the pictures you sent of Aidan with the mini ponies running after him,” Jess tells me. “I don’t think I’ve ever heard her speak so nicely about anyone who isn’t a client. I’m still kinda shocked.”
“She did?” I’m genuinely surprised and a little bit proud of myself. “What did she say?”
“She said the pics were ‘usable’ and it was ‘nice to discover you weren’t a total fuck-up.’”
I snort and switch the phone to the other ear as I shake out my hair. For once, it’s styled. With all the styling paste I applied to the ends, the waves are behaving. Parted to the side, they’re falling nicely over my shoulder.
I can’t believe I’m doing this for a woman who abandoned me, but I’m a glutton for punishment and still have mommy issues at twenty-nine, which is why I agreed to meet her for lunch a few days after I saw my father.