Total pages in book: 103
Estimated words: 99434 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 497(@200wpm)___ 398(@250wpm)___ 331(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 99434 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 497(@200wpm)___ 398(@250wpm)___ 331(@300wpm)
Shit
I couldn’t very well drag Etta’s wellbeing into things between Gray and me. That wouldn’t be fair. So I had to call him.
At least that’s how I justified my finger hovering over his name and debating whether to text him back at eleven o’clock on a Saturday night.
Chapter 12
* * *
Gray
My evening had been occupied by the delivery of a new mattress and obsessively checking my phone for texts.
I’d just spent three years cooped up in a place I couldn’t leave—without women and eating shitty food. And here I was, alone on a Saturday night eating crappy Chinese food in my apartment all by my lonesome self.
After checking my phone yet again, I tossed it on the couch and blew out a sigh of frustration.
I should be out at some dive bar, meeting a woman who wanted no more than a hard cock between her legs. But instead I was home being loyal to a woman who was most likely out on a fucking date.
Layla Hutton.
A part of me thought maybe my obsession would wear off once I’d gotten to see her again and say my piece after a year of having to remember what she looked like, what she smelled like.
No such luck. The woman was deep under my skin, and I couldn’t shake her—unlike the woman whose two-thousand-dollar Breville espresso machine I was currently tossing into a box to send to the local Goodwill store.
I’d expected the condo I owned and shared with Max to be empty when I walked in after a three-year absence. But it was just the opposite. She’d left everything that had been inside when I started my sentence. Even her clothes were still in the closet. Although with the amount of money she’d swindled, I’m sure it was no skin off her nose to start over on her collection of fine goods.
Since my afternoon had been light, I’d decided to go on a cleaning spree—basically getting rid of all her shit. I didn’t care if it was new or something I could use. I wanted everything she’d brought into my life gone.
The hallway to my penthouse was now filled with boxes and bags of donations.
Prada shoes.
Hermes bags.
Cartier sunglasses.
Max had expensive taste. I’d probably be donating over fifty grand worth of overpriced crap. But the purge of the remnants of my life with her was worth any price.
Throwing out a KitchenAid mixer she’d bought and never used, I looked around my half-empty apartment. Out with the old, in with the new. Other than the new mattress I’d had delivered today, there wasn’t much I had the urge to replace right away.
I wasn’t sure if Max had picked up the unopened, thirty-year-old bottle of scotch I currently had my eye on, but hey, I’d get rid of it tonight—after it was empty.
I took a seat in my favorite beat-up old leather chair, which sat across from a designer couch, and sipped the aged liquor while staring out at the city. My Tribeca condo overlooked lower Manhattan from the living room and had a view of the Hudson River from my bedroom. The city was dark, but the crisp, bright skyline illuminated the evening. The more I stared at it, the more I found myself wondering where Layla was tonight.
I wasn’t stupid enough to think winning her back would be quick and easy. But the thought of her out there with some other guy wasn’t something I would be able to handle for very long. Even if I couldn’t have her, I needed to find a way to make sure no one else did either.
My phone buzzed from where I’d tossed it on the couch. Looking at my watch, it was a little after eleven, so I figured it was likely one of my business partners. They both lived on the west coast and never slept either.
But a little sunshine peeked from the dark horizon when I saw Layla’s name on my screen.
Layla: I’m sorry to hear about Etta. Of course I’ll help her.
I rattled the ice in my glass, deciding on a response. I’d done well not making contact lately, giving her the room to figure out we weren’t done yet on her own. While Etta’s situation was not something I’d ever be happy about, just seeing Layla’s text response brought me some relief that she hadn’t decided to cut me off completely.
Gray: Thank you.
I couldn’t stop myself from sending another one.
Gray: It’s late. Just get in?
Layla: Yes.
Gray: Date?
I watched the dots jump around, then stop, then start again.
Layla: Not that it’s any of your business, but yes. I was out with Oliver.
The thought of her out with another man should have pissed me off, but instead I smiled to myself and tossed back the remainder of my drink.
No sleepover. That’s my girl.
I texted back.
Gray: I haven’t been getting laid either.