Total pages in book: 213
Estimated words: 201920 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 1010(@200wpm)___ 808(@250wpm)___ 673(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 201920 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 1010(@200wpm)___ 808(@250wpm)___ 673(@300wpm)
He slaps down a few five-dollar bills as his beer hits the bar and then he finally faces me.
“She really messed you up that bad?” Going right in for the kill.
“I don’t want to talk about it,” I answer him simply, returning my gaze to the cracked concrete sidewalk across the street. A few people walk by and no one seems to notice it.
“Fair enough,” he says with a nod and then asks for a menu.
“You’re making yourself right at home, aren’t you?”
“I’ve got to eat.”
I take a good hard look at him as he opens the menu and pretends like this is some casual meetup.
“You don’t have anything better to do?” I ask him and his dark gaze meets mine. There’s a challenge in his eyes but one he lets go of quickly.
“Nothing I feel like doing right now.”
Another moment passes and he closes the menu and pushes it forward, glancing over his shoulder to check out the game.
“What would you do?” I finally ask him. “If you were me?”
“If I wanted a girl, but she didn’t want me?” he asks like that’s what happened.
“She wants me,” I tell him confidently and he huffs a sarcastic laugh. “She’s scared,” I tell him in a raised voice I didn’t intend.
“Scared of you?” he asks like it’s a valid question and I can’t believe he’d say that.
“You think I’d hurt her?” My hackles raise, my muscles coiling. “I’d never give her a reason to fear me. I wouldn’t hurt a woman.”
“You’re the one who said she’s scared,” he answers me and I let the anger wane, listening to the murmur of talking around us and the sounds of the football game on the screen as I think about how to explain my Allie Cat.
“What’s she afraid of then?” Daniel asks me before I can tell him anything and I just shrug.
“What are we all afraid of?” I shoot back and then snort like I’m some fucking philosopher.
“Getting hurt … or maybe that we’ll be the ones to do the hurting,” Daniel answers with nothing but sincerity. My throat tightens and I struggle to release my breath as I take in the weight of what he said.
I nod and chug my beer, drinking it all down. It hits the bar with a loud ring from the empty glass and I signal for another.
“Sometimes people hurt the ones who get close to them.”
“I didn’t hurt her,” I say without looking away from the bar. I watch the bartender fill the glass, the beer spilling over before he wipes it off.
“I wasn’t talking about you doing the hurting. Seems like she’s the one who’s got you on a leash.”
I smirk at him and grab the beer with both hands.
“Maybe I like the leash,” I joke and he finally breaks into a smile, but it’s gone when he opens his mouth next.
“You like her doing that, though?” he asks. “Leading you on like that?”
“It’s not what it looks like,” I tell him and he’s quick to respond with, “That’s what they all say.”
“I’m telling you, Allie feels something for me. There’s something real there.”
“But she’s scared?” he asks like I’m being ridiculous. Without waiting for me to try to explain more, he continues.
“You can’t make someone commit to you.” His voice turns bitter as he adds, “You can’t make them want you.” I’m struck by his words and the force of them until I realize he’s talking about something else. Someone else.
“If she’d just tell me what the hell got to her, I’d make it right.”
“Did you ask?”
The world seems to still at his question. The obvious answer is yes. I didn’t, though, not really. I backed off. I didn’t push her like I thought about doing. I could have pushed. I should have. I was so close, and I didn’t do it.
“I didn’t want to scare her off,” I say and the words are a murmur.
“Instead you lost her,” he says back and I stare at him like he’s the asshole here. He shrugs and takes another sip of his beer before telling me, “Sometimes they come back, and sometimes you just have to go get them.”
ALLISON
There’s something about these pajamas.
They remind me of Sam. She always wore pajamas, even to school. Blue and flannel with a tank top underneath, the pants folded over at the waist. A small smile graces my lips as I grab the bottle of Cabernet from the fridge.
That’s how I want to remember her.
It’s been five years, and only recently have I started to remember her like that. Back when she was the Sam I knew and loved. Back when we were best friends for life.
She wore pajamas like this when she was happy.
Not me, though. My heart sinks as I glance at my phone, sitting on the countertop of the small kitchen.