Total pages in book: 59
Estimated words: 58600 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 293(@200wpm)___ 234(@250wpm)___ 195(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 58600 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 293(@200wpm)___ 234(@250wpm)___ 195(@300wpm)
Alex: What’s the poem about?
Tori: It’s depressing. I don’t want to ruin the mood.
I laugh at the callback.
Alex: I’ve seen more darkness today than you could fathom, Tori. Don’t hold back on my account.
Tori: If you want to know…
Alex: I do. I’m curious about everything about you.
I delete the last line, leaving just ‘I do’. After I click send, I wonder if we’ll ever say those two magical words. Then, I relegate the crazy thought to the back of my mind.
Tori: The performance is from the point of view of a girl after her mom’s latest boyfriend walks out. She’s watched these men lie to her mother over and over, and so she’s venting her frustration while she wrestles with the core concept of whether or not love is real.
I swallow. She’s wondering if love is real?
Making her mine is going to be an uphill battle.
Again, I warn myself to calm down.
Alex: So this is from the point of view of a character?
Tori: Sure, you could call her that. Obviously, I’ll be the one up there performing, but sometimes, I like to use a framing device: a way to distance myself. Or just create a new perspective.
She added the ‘or,’ but it’s the first one. She wants to distance herself and pretend this isn’t about her. But it is.
Alex: This character doesn’t believe that love is real.
My hands are trembling as I type, the idea making me sick on a level I never had access to before I met Tori.
Tori: She’s wrestling with the idea. She’s not sure if it exists.
Alex: Which way is she leaning?
Tori: She’s leaning toward the ‘if it ain’t broke, don’t fix it’ mentality.
Alex: In what way?
I’m sending my replies fast, with no thought of seeming too eager holding me back. Once, Julian counted out the words in texts he was sending a woman. He refused to let his word count exceed hers. I can’t play those games.
Tori: If she has functioned this long without love, relationships, or even having crushes, then why should she start now? Plenty of people are able to live productive lives alone. Surely, you can understand that.
She’s got me there, but I don’t want to admit it, not to her, not to the woman I’m starting to care about.
Alex: People can be productive. But that doesn’t necessarily mean they’re living their best lives or that they couldn’t be happier.
Tori: You’re really gung ho about this ‘love’ thing, aren’t you?
Alex: No.
I lie. I can’t let her know I’ve been secretly wanting and searching, convinced it would never work out until we began texting.
One walk on the beach with her means more than a full-fledged date with any other woman ever could.
Alex: You’re too young to think there’s no such thing as love, Tori.
Tori: We’re not talking about me. We’re talking about the character.
Alex: If I were there, I’d make you admit the truth: this is about you. You’re the only one who thinks love is a lie.
Tori: You’d make me, huh? How would you persuade me?
My body stirs. My steel aches and grows hot. Is she trying to take this where I think she is?
I close my eyes and imagine her in bed. No, sitting on the bed so I can get a greedy look at her thick thighs in some PJ shorts. In the fantasy, she’s wearing a tank top, no bra, her nipples poking through the material, tempting me to suck them, first through the fabric until she’s wriggling and begging, then I’ll tear down her shirt, reveal her nakedness, suck until her toes are curling with a soul-searing orgasm.
Only then will I move on to the rest of her delectable body.
Alex: I’d bring you to the edge, Tori, and make you tell me before I let you topple over.
Tori: Hmm… What kind of edge are we talking about?
Alex: The edge you bring me to any time I think about your voluptuous, tempting legs. The edge you’ve brought me to right now as I imagine gliding my hands over your body.
Tori: Where on my body?
My balls throb, lust flooding into me, surging up my stiff pole.
Alex: Anywhere I damn well…
I stop typing when Elliot screams.
Leaping to my feet, I run through the house and burst into his bedroom. He’s sitting upright, breathing heavily, sweat glistening on his forehead and cheeks.
“Daddy?” he says, staring at me. He shudders as he takes me in and realizes I’m not his father. “Uncle Alex. Sorry.”
“You don’t need to be sorry,” I tell him, approaching the bed. “Bad dream?”
He nods, wiping his eyes. “It’s okay. I’ll go back to sleep.”
I kneel next to the bed. It’s been two years since the crash and far longer since the betrayal, and I’m nowhere near as close to my nephew as I should be. I realize that sometimes, and it hurts. I can blame work all I want, but I know other forces are at play, too.