Total pages in book: 124
Estimated words: 122514 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 613(@200wpm)___ 490(@250wpm)___ 408(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 122514 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 613(@200wpm)___ 490(@250wpm)___ 408(@300wpm)
An adventure. Right. It was my goddamn heart.
But they were right. I had no other options here. I mean, I could send him a text…
Fuuuck.
I was doing it before I even fully comprehended I’d made the decision to do it.
Me: What should I wear if I were going to go to a nightclub?
Me: A fucking bikini top? Maybe just a bra around my crotch? Or only a thong?
It was go-time now. I unleashed it all.
I was typing the next as I watched him pull out his phone. He frowned at it, reading.
Me: Or maybe just sunglasses? The silver kind.
His mouth pressed down in a firm line, but he edged the girl off his lap, waving her away. One of the other guys snapped her up, and she went happily to his lap. Juan and Stan were settled in the box by now. Both gave Reese a look, but when he leaned forward and started to type, they moved to the other side of the booth where the others were. Reese remained sitting off on his own.
A part of me was glad to see that. Good. Stay like that, because you’re all mine.
Oh, yes. My inner crazy stalker fangirl was back, but now she was possessive. I was all sorts of possessive.
I wasn’t walking this time.
A bitter taste soured my mouth as I kicked myself.
Me: I never should’ve walked. I’m sorry. But…
Me: What are your thoughts on second chances? Providing it’s not to an alcoholic brother who uses your name for stuff he doesn’t deserve?
My phone buzzed back.
Reese: Where are you?
I grinned, slinking down in our box. He wasn’t even looking around the club.
Reese: Are you in Chicago?
Me: What about ex fucking? Positions on that? Pun intended.
Reese: Where the fuck are you?
Me: Pun intended?
Me: I’m just saying yes for you. Good one.
Me: Answer my questions.
My body had heated up. A throb started between my legs, and I moved in my seat. I didn’t know what the end result would be, but I knew the chances of meeting up and having a quick fuck were extremely high. Whether he’d still want to talk to me afterwards was another matter.
I held off, watching him stare at the phone. He wasn’t responding, but he wasn’t putting the phone away.
Me: Answer me and I’ll answer you.
He shook his head, but returned to typing.
Reese: Fuck. You.
Ouch.
Still.
Me: So you’re saying there’s a chance?
A slight grin from him. He typed again.
Reese: Where are you? I’ll come to you.
Me: So you can ‘fuck. me.’??
Reese: Yes.
A whole burst of shivers moved down my spine, setting every cell on vibrate. I groaned, biting my lip.
Me: What are your thoughts on a girl who was so messed up she could barely look at herself in the mirror?
Me: Who hated herself so much because she was leaving behind someone who could no longer be next to her because a disease was eating him away, slowly, every goddamn day? What are your thoughts on that girl?
Me: Who still cries at the thought of losing the guy she thought she was going to marry one day? But knows he’ll never come back and she still has to go through that grieving process?
Me: Who isn’t in love with him, but knows she’ll always care for him because she respected him that much, respected the relationship she thought she would have with him? Because he was actually a really great guy before the fucking disease TOOK HIM AWAY FROM HER?!
Me: She never got a say. He didn’t.
Me: They were happy one day, then poof, he couldn’t remember her the next for a few minutes. How’s that right? How’s that something we’re supposed to just take? Move on with life?
Me: Well. It doesn’t happen. There are feelings and thoughts and dreams and lives that are plucked away from us and we HAVE NO FUCKING SAY IN THE MATTER!
Me: Sorry. Calmer now.
Me: Still glad we became friends?
Me: Still glad we had sex?
Me: Still glad you put up with me enough so we were more than friends, more than fuck friends?
Me: What are your thoughts on a girl who was so filled with shame that it took her an entire year to start living again? To hope to live again? To want to live again?
Reese: Where.
Me: Or about a girl who realized because she hadn’t dealt with her baggage, she might’ve royally fucked up her chances at being with another guy who could make her happy? Who could make her live again?
Me: Or…
My hands were shaking. My stomach was going to empty out, and I was about to be sitting here texting with him and crapping my pants all at the same time. But I took a deep inhale and typed it to him.
Me: What are your thoughts on a girl who sends you random questions because she’s too scared to tell you the one simple truth?