Total pages in book: 204
Estimated words: 193115 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 966(@200wpm)___ 772(@250wpm)___ 644(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 193115 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 966(@200wpm)___ 772(@250wpm)___ 644(@300wpm)
“Shit!” she yelps, and I grab her before she falls flat on her face and bursts her lips. She gathers herself, looking dazed. “Are we burning down?” she asks, following me to the door, laughing.
“Sorry.” I stop at the top of the steps, seeing Ava by my car. “I’ll see you tomorrow.”
“Okay, sweetie.” Sarah joins me and leans in, kissing my cheek. “See you later.”
I break away and make my way to Ava, handing over her bag and opening the door.
“Hope to see you again, Ava.” Sarah calls. I look over my shoulder. Her smile is dazzling, and I cock her a questioning look. She rolls her eyes and heads back inside. Yes, too much.
But I can’t moan. She seems to be taking it on the chin, and I know this drastic change in the dynamics of our relationship will be hard for her. She’s not wrong. It has been the three of us for a long time.
I round my car and slip in beside Ava, starting the engine and reaching for her leg, giving it a gentle squeeze, silently getting her attention. She seems . . . distant. “Okay?”
She offers a small smile that goes nowhere near her eyes, resting her hand on mine and returning my squeeze. “Yes. Just thinking of all the things I need to prep for my week.”
So she has a busy week at work. I inwardly pout. Does that mean we won’t get to spend any time with each other? I’m desperate to ask, just so I have all my ducks in a row—and so I can prepare myself for how long it’ll be before I can see her again. Don’t crowd her. I can already feel my mood dipping.
It’s uncomfortably quiet on the way to her place. My thoughts chase around in circles, conjuring up reason after reason to keep her for the night. There’s none except, of course, that I simply don’t want to spend the night without her. Just tell her that.
I pull up outside Kate’s, and I’m about to show my hand, tell her I want her to stay with me, when she quickly leans across and presses a fleeting kiss to my cheek before jumping out of my car at lightning speed. “I’ll call you.”
My frown follows her up the path until she shuts the door behind her. What was that? I drum the steering wheel with my fingertips. Then open the door, set to go find out what’s going on.
Don’t crowd her.
“Fuck,” I mutter, slamming it again and zooming off, my foot naturally heavy on the accelerator. What the fuck am I going to do until tomorrow?
21
Go crazy. That’s what I did. Walked circles around my apartment, typed out a dozen texts, deleted them, went to bed, and tossed and turned all night.
I woke at five, ran ten miles, paced some more, and spent most of Monday trying to reason with myself, constantly hearing John telling me not to crowd her. Calling her wouldn’t be crowding her. Texting her wouldn’t be crowding her. Dropping in to see her at work wouldn’t be crowding her.
But here’s my problem: I don’t have the mental capacity or energy to convince myself I’m being irrational. All I know is that when she’s with me, I’m fine, and when she’s not, I’m far from fine.
After calling and texting twice and getting no answer or replies, I try to convince myself she’s just busy. But after trying again and again and again, I realize she isn’t busy.
She’s avoiding me.
Again.
On Tuesday, I’m wide awake at five again, and with nothing else to do but drive myself insane with my thought process and worries, I go for another run. I have another mental argument with myself. Another minor meltdown.
My drive to The Manor passes in a blur, and because I still haven’t heard back from Ava, I text Sam, asking for Kate’s number. Surely she’ll tell me the truth. Kate’s that kind of woman—shoots as straight as an arrow. I walk into my office and find Sarah at my desk pouring over some spreadsheets. “What did you say to Ava on Sunday?” I ask, my persona aggressive, my stance threatening.
She takes in my tall frame, probably frowning, though you’d never know it. “We chatted. About the designs. Is something wrong?”
I growl and toss my keys and phone on the coffee table, dropping onto the couch. “She’s not taking my calls.”
“Perhaps she’s been busy.”
Too busy to answer her phone or texts? I scoff, my foot tapping as fast as my mind is spinning. Chatted? I am ninety-nine percent sure Sarah is lying about what she did or didn’t say to Ava, and I know with absolute certainty that even if I ask her, she won’t be honest. And I hate that I can’t trust someone who has been part of my life for the last twenty years. But it’s fact. Ava has been back in this groove since spending time with Sarah.