Total pages in book: 88
Estimated words: 84761 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 424(@200wpm)___ 339(@250wpm)___ 283(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 84761 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 424(@200wpm)___ 339(@250wpm)___ 283(@300wpm)
“Are you alright?” Will stared at me with both eyebrows raised.
I had no idea what he just said. I was zoning out, picturing Crewe’s perfectly chiseled body on top of mine. “Yeah, I’m fine. For a second, I thought I left the stove on in my apartment…but I’m pretty sure I didn’t.”
Will bought my story and continued talking about his aunt, a professor at NYU.
I went back to thinking about Crewe.
Over a month had come and gone since I saw Crewe get carried away on a stretcher. I knew he survived the ordeal and he was going to be okay, but that didn’t stop me from worrying about him. I hoped he was making a good recovery, that he wasn’t drinking too much, and that he wasn’t more bitter and angry than he was when we first met.
I wanted to talk to him, but I didn’t think that would go over well. The circumstances hadn’t changed between us, so there was nothing to say. There was nothing to fix. I just hoped these feelings would go away.
Unless I really did love him.
Did I?
I was home on a Saturday morning when Joseph called me. We talked here and there, but never about anything that happened with Crewe. Our mutual anger hadn’t dwindled, but we put that aside because all we had was each other.
“Hey,” I said into the phone.
“What are you doing?” He spoke with a dead voice that was calm, borderline tired.
“Sitting on the couch watching TV in my pajamas.” Nothing I wore was as comfortable as Crewe’s t-shirts. I wished I’d gotten to take one home with me.
“How’d your date go?”
There wasn’t much to tell. “Okay. We had pizza then went our separate ways. I don’t think he’ll call me again.” And if he did, I would turn him down. There was no chemistry, no interest whatsoever. I felt like I was having dinner with a brother more than a possible lover.
“That’s too bad.”
I wasn’t too disappointed. “What are you up to?”
“My plane is about to land in New York.”
“Really?” A smile formed on my face even though I was still mad at him.
“I’m doing business in town. Was hoping I could see you.”
“Sure. You wanna grab lunch?”
“How about I pick something up and bring it to your place?”
I forgot that he was living a criminal life like Crewe. Crewe hardly went out meals. In fact, we’d never been on a real date. He probably had to lay low at all times. “Yeah, sure. I like Chinese.”
“That makes two of us. I’ll pick it up on the way.”
I showered and cleaned the apartment before he arrived. There was no evidence that I looked like hell, usually sitting on the couch with two open bags of potato chips. I vacuumed and destroyed all signs of my laziness. If he’d witnessed it, he would definitely crack a joke or two about it.
When he knocked on the door, I opened it and let him inside. Normally, I would hug him right away, but the memory of what he did to Crewe was still heavy in my mind. He nearly killed the man I spent half a year with. I wouldn’t forget that anytime soon. “Hey.”
“Hey.” He carried the plastic bag of food to the table. “You wanna eat now?”
“Sure.” I opened my wallet and pulled out some cash. “How much do I owe?”
“Shut up and eat.” He sat down and pulled out the two trays of food and chopsticks.
I opened mine and began to eat, unsure what to say to him. It was the first time we’d been alone since he dropped me off at the airport a month ago. We talked on the phone, so he knew I had a job and a fairly normal life. “This is good.”
“It’s awesome. I haven’t had Chinese in nearly a year.” He scarfed down his food, grabbing large chunks of food between those two small sticks.
I hadn’t had it in just as long.
“So, how are things going?”
“Good. I really like my new job. Everyone is nice.”
“That’s cool. Your friends are glad to have you back?”
“Yeah, but they walk on eggshells all the time, like if they say the wrong thing, I’ll lose my mind.”
He watched me as he chewed his chow mein, the stubble along his chin thick because he hadn’t shaved in a while. Joseph and I didn’t share a lot of characteristics, but we had the same eyes—green like our mother’s. “They’re just being sensitive. Can’t blame them for that.”
“I know. But no matter how many times I tell people I’m fine, they don’t believe me. They tell me I need therapy.”
“Therapy isn’t a bad idea.”
“I don’t need therapy,” I said coldly. “Crewe treated me well.”
He shook his head. “I’m not a therapist, and I can tell you have Stockholm syndrome.”
“I do not,” I snapped. “Crewe always gave me a choice. He never made me do anything I didn’t want to do. Everything between us was consensual.”