Total pages in book: 113
Estimated words: 106953 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 535(@200wpm)___ 428(@250wpm)___ 357(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 106953 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 535(@200wpm)___ 428(@250wpm)___ 357(@300wpm)
I send in an inquiry about the apartment’s availability and begin my job hunt. There are lots of low-wage jobs available but not one that pays enough to cover the bills. So, two jobs it is. For the next hour, I distract myself by filling out online applications. After the fifteenth one, my tears have dried and I’m no longer feeling sorry for myself.
Well, not much anyway.
But I’m cold. I check the thermostat, but it’s broken because the tiny LED screen declares that it’s a temperate 72 degrees. Not likely given the goosebumps on my arms. I grab the comforter off the bed and wrap it around me and fill out five more applications. The fifth one is for a delivery position, and for some reason that makes me think of Leka. The tears start up again.
If only I could stop wanting him. Maybe I could see a heart surgeon and he could cut out all the Leka pieces in that worthless organ. No. I’d have to take my whole heart out because there isn’t a part that doesn’t have Leka in it.
Feeling helpless, I drop my head to the desk. The faux leather pad covering the work surface feels sticky and gross against my tear-soaked cheek, but I’m too emotionally spent to move.
You’re going to be okay, I tell myself. It’ll be okay.
I’m going to keep saying this until I believe it.
A knock at the door interrupts my chanting. I didn’t order room service and no one knows I'm here. I glance warily at the door. “Who is it?”
“It’s me.”
I jump to my feet. Leka? How could he find me? I just picked a random hotel. My gaze drops to my phone. Dumb. Dumb. Dumb. I shouldn’t have turned it on. What a rookie mistake! I’d used cash to check in but didn’t think to get a burner phone.
"You have the wrong room,” I say. “Please leave or I’ll be forced to call security.”
Leka’s response is to unlock the door and walk in.
“Hey!” I wave my arms as if I can magic him out of my room like some wand-wielding wizard. “Get out. You’re trespassing.”
Since I don’t have a wand and am not a wizard, I fail.
“How mad are you?”
“I’m furious.” I glare. “My rage is incandescent, and it will remain at that alarming level for a very long time.”
“Okay.” He leans in and kisses me. I let him because I’m angry but also very much in love and I can’t turn him away. But I only allow the kiss to last a few minutes before breaking away. No amount of kissing is going to reduce my anger.
“Only time—” He interrupts me with another kiss. I try again. “Only time will make it”—kiss—“I really mean it”—kiss—“I’m serious—”
He tongues my lips apart and dives in. My righteous anger dissolves like chocolate under a flame as he tugs on the belt loops of my jeans until my body is flush against his. He parts his legs and fits me into the notch between them. The hard, stiff length of him juts against my stomach—the flimsy fabric no barrier against his desire.
My head spins and I lose track of exactly why I was mad until he releases me and then it all comes flooding back.
I push out of his arms and put a few feet between us so I can catch my breath. “You don’t get to kick me out and then waltz back in like nothing happened.”
“I agree. I’m sorry. I’m scared shitless of you staying, but you leaving forever is my biggest fear. If you stay, you could get hurt and that will kill me. I don’t think our relationship would ever be the same.”
“Of course, it wouldn’t,” I reply impatiently.
He frowns. “What do you mean?”
“Our relationship will change all the time. It already has, from guardian and ward to lovers. Tomorrow, maybe we will be parents. I’ve grown; you've grown and so our relationship changes. What doesn’t change is our love. As long as we have love, we can weather all the changes. If I get hurt, then we deal with that hurt and our guilt and our pain and we move the fuck on together.”
He gives me his quirky smile. “All right then, my love. We’ll fight this battle together.”
“Fine,” I reply stiffly, but my lip quivers.
“You done being mad at me?” His voice is so tender that it sends my heart flying, and because I have zero control over my emotions, the tears start to flow.
Leka panics. “Shit. What’s wrong? What did I say?” His rough hands come up to cup my cheeks, as if by force he can stem the tide.
“N-n-nothing,” I blubber. “You called me my love.”
“I’ll never say it again,” he vows.
“If you don’t say it every day until I die, we’re going to fight.” I hit him on the arm.