Total pages in book: 89
Estimated words: 86706 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 434(@200wpm)___ 347(@250wpm)___ 289(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 86706 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 434(@200wpm)___ 347(@250wpm)___ 289(@300wpm)
I held out the small brown paper bag. “I got your lozenges.”
“Thank you.” He took them, the brush of his hand sending a chill down my spine.
I inhaled his spicy scent as I stared at his strong, tattooed arms. The combination was magnificent. But as much as I’d wished for alone time with him, I had no reason to stay. “Well…have a good night.” I turned back toward the front of the bus.
“Emily, wait.”
I looked back. “Yeah?”
“Do you have somewhere to be right now?”
“Not really. I was just going back to my bus.”
“You’re off the clock, right?”
“Technically.”
“Have you eaten tonight?”
“I had a slice of pizza.”
“That’s not enough. Feel like taking a ride? I hate going out alone, but I could use a change of scenery.”
“Won’t people mob you if we go out? The other guys took most of security with them.”
“I know a place open this late where no one will bother us. Really good food, too, and not far from here.”
It was a no-brainer. I couldn’t pass this up. “Yeah. Sure. Okay.”
“Cool. Let me just grab a hoodie.”
Tristan pulled the black hood over his head as we ran across the parking lot, past security to the rental car. I drove while Tristan sat in the passenger seat, texting someone. He then punched an address into the GPS on his phone and directed me as I drove us there.
After a few minutes we arrived at a Middle Eastern restaurant with a house attached. The sign out front read Abdul’s.
“We’re eating here?” I parked in the lot.
“Abdul, the owner, is a friend of mine,” Tristan explained. “Whenever I’m in Detroit, I try to hit this place up. They stay open late. I wasn’t going to come this time, but you reminded me I was hungry.”
“I remind you of falafel?” I laughed.
“You’re more like kibbeh.” He winked.
“What?”
He chuckled. “Come on,” he said as he exited the car.
I followed him to the door of the house. A dark-haired man with a moustache let us in. He and Tristan chatted for a few minutes about the band, and then the man clapped him on the back.
“Make yourself at home,” he told us, gesturing toward the living room. “I’ll have someone bring you a platter.”
“Thanks, my guy.” Tristan patted him on the shoulder.
I looked around. The house smelled like the spices coming from the restaurant, and there were religious statues all around the room—mostly variations of Mary. “I feel like I’m being judged right now with all these Holy Marys staring at me.”
Tristan nodded. “Abdul’s mother was very religious. She passed away a few years back, but he hasn’t had the heart to move any of her statues.”
“Well, that’s kind of sweet.”
“You’ll also notice a stash of gay porn DVDs in the corner. Goes well with everything else, doesn’t it?”
“Well, that’s interesting.”
“Life’s about balance, Emily.” Tristan laughed.
God, he was gorgeous. The way pieces of his silky hair fell over his forehead. His hair was amazing. “No wonder that nutty girl kept it in a jar,” I muttered.
“Hmm?” he asked.
Guess I said that aloud. I shook my head. “Nothing.”
“Are you not religious?” Tristan asked.
“Why do you ask?”
“You said the statues make you uncomfortable.”
“Yeah. I don’t really like talking about religion.”
He wriggled his brows. “We could talk about porn, if you prefer.”
Religion it is. I rolled my eyes. “Religion scares me sometimes. Anything that dictates how you’re supposed to act, threatening punishment…” I shivered. “Maybe it’s because I feel I deserve punishment.”
“Whoa.” His expression darkened. “Only truly bad people deserve punishment, Emily, not those who get caught up in shit. Besides, we’re all imperfect in our own ways.”
“Some of us more than others…” I murmured.
“I don’t think we were put on this Earth to be perfect. I think we were designed to fuck up, learn lessons, and take those lessons back to wherever we came from.”
“And where exactly did we come from, Tristan?”
“Not sure what it’s called. But I think we all came from the same place. There has to be a purpose to this craziness.”
“So you think there’s a larger meaning to this thing we call life…”
Tristan grinned. “Something about you makes me want to admit things I’d never say to other people.”
“Like what?”
“One of my interests is studying near-death experiences.”
“Really? When the heck do you have the time for that?”
“There’s always time for Internet rabbit holes, Emily.” He winked. “And, there are a lot of commonalities among people’s accounts of what happens when you almost die. Too many similarities, if you ask me, for it to be a coincidence.” He paused. “And now you’re wishing we’d watched porn instead of having this philosophical discussion at one in the morning, aren’t you?”
“No.” I laughed. “Tell me what you mean, though. What do people say happens when they have a near-death experience?”
“Well, those who claim to have crossed over talk about seeing loved ones who’ve passed who guide them to the other side. They also realize that their soul has lived many lifetimes, sometimes needing to go back to Earth to learn lessons they failed to grasp in a previous life. Sometimes they’re given a choice of whether to stay there or come back.” He shrugged. “These are all anecdotes, of course, and we can’t prove anything. But it’s pretty fascinating to listen to their stories.”