Total pages in book: 235
Estimated words: 224334 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 1122(@200wpm)___ 897(@250wpm)___ 748(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 224334 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 1122(@200wpm)___ 897(@250wpm)___ 748(@300wpm)
“My knickers are flashing,” she whines, feeling back to try and pat down the skirt of her dress.
“No, they’re not.” Five minutes ago, my dick was the only part of me that didn’t hurt or ache. Trust my unquenchable need for this woman to fix that.
When I reach the car, I reluctantly let her slide down my chest, our fronts compressed. I can feel her heart. Can she feel mine? It’s pounding harder than it has in days. I can’t bring myself to release her. The longer I hold her, the more chance there is of her remembering.
Her eyes level with mine, I gaze at her pensively. Kiss her. Show her. Remind her.
But she starts wriggling before I can put my plan into action. “We need to go to the supermarket,” she says quietly, diverting her eyes, looking away from me. The supermarket? When the fuck have I ever been to a supermarket?
Just last week. To stock up on vodka.
My hand starts to throb again. My heartbeat dulls. My head bangs. I release Ava’s squirming body on a tired exhale. “How can I fix things if you keep dodging my attempts?”
She sorts out her dress and gives me a pointed look. We’ve gone from hysterics to playful to downright awkward in the space of a few minutes. It’s a roller coaster. I want off. “That’s your problem, Jesse,” she says, clipped, and I shrink a little under her condemning glare. “You want to fix things by distracting me with your touch instead of talking to me and giving me some answers. I can’t let that happen again.” The Aston doors unlock, and she falls into the driver’s seat.
And that’s your problem, Jesse.
She’s not asked me any fucking questions to answer yet. Won’t talk. Seems content enduring the screaming silence that keeps falling between us. So, where does that leave us? In no-man’s land.
I fall into the seat, and Ava pulls off a lot faster than before. She’s mad. With herself? I can’t imagine having to resist something that I desperately want. What I can imagine is being deprived of something I desperately need. And there might be our problem.
She wants me.
I, on the other hand, need her.
The two are very different and put us on opposite ends of the desperation scale. That’s not a good position for me to be in.
Who has the power, Ward?
Stupid fucking question.
4
I hate supermarkets, but today more so. It’s just another obstacle in my way, something to delay me getting Ava home. “There’s a space.” I point across the car park and get my arm smacked in thanks.
“That’s a parent and child space.” She sails past it, and I look back on a frown.
“So?”
Her eyes flick to me briefly. “So, I don’t see any child in this lovely car of yours, do you?”
I don’t mean to look at her stomach. It just . . . happens. “Did you find your pills?” I didn’t mean to say that either. Wife sounded pretty fucking amazing. Mother to my children?
“No.” The car stops. She must have found a space. I don’t know.
“Did you miss any?” My wondering is just falling out of my mouth. I can’t help it.
“My period came last Sunday evening.” She jumps out, and I remain in my seat, my head spinning. Her period came. She was relieved. Which means she would have been worried. I don’t know how I feel about that. Do I have weak swimmers? I wince when I bite down a little too hard on my lip. God, am I getting too old to reproduce? She’s a twenty-six-year-old woman. Babies might not be on her agenda just yet, but they will be in the coming years. What if I can’t give her babies? That’ll be a good enough reason alone for her to leave me. My empty stomach flips, and I know straight away that it’s anxiety. Am I that broken? And how many pills did she miss?
I blindly reach for the handle and get out, feeling . . . inadequate. Unsure. Fucking terrified. “Could you have parked any farther away?” I ask moodily as I pace around the car.
“At least I’m parked legally.” She collects a trolley. Not a basket for a few things, but a whole, big trolley. Is that a good thing? Is she preparing to stay with me for a while? Like, forever? “Have you ever been to a supermarket?” she asks.
Only for emergency supplies. “Cathy does it.” I trudge alongside her, my mind elsewhere. Should I get a sperm test? Have myself checked out? “I usually eat at The Manor.” I peek out the corner of my eye to gage her reaction to the mention of my business. It’s not a subject that’s been broached yet. And by the look of her suddenly sharp expression, it’s not one she’s keen to get to. So, we’re just going to pretend it doesn’t exist? Sounds like a good plan to me. Like ignoring the endless fuckups of my past.