Total pages in book: 92
Estimated words: 89503 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 448(@200wpm)___ 358(@250wpm)___ 298(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 89503 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 448(@200wpm)___ 358(@250wpm)___ 298(@300wpm)
There’s a saying that it’s better to have loved and lost than to never have experienced it at all, and I firmly disagree. I was so much better off hating men. I was functioning just fine without having a hole in my fucking chest, trying to figure out how to live through the pain.
“I’m just going to have to switch back,” I say, like it’s that easy and close the fridge. “I hated all men once. I can hate them again.” I pause before heading to the sink for a glass of water. “Well, I’ll never be able to hate Jory, but …”
The sound of a car horn blaring in front of the house distracts me. I grab a glass out of the cabinet before it starts honking again.
“What the heck is going on?” I ask, getting very good at talking to myself. “What the …”
I peer through the window, angling my neck to get a glimpse of the front of the house. Just as I lean forward, the glass falls from my hand, smashing against the floor into a hundred pieces.
No. There’s no way.
My heart pounds as I gasp, spinning toward the front door. My eyes are as big as saucers as I hold my breath. I’m afraid to run to the door like I want to, because I could be hallucinating. Things get weird for me when I haven’t slept or eaten enough and, if I were going to see an apparition, I’d totally see Jory.
The door flies open and he comes into the house, scanning the room until he finds me.
A slow, sinful smile slips across his cheeks.
“You’re in my shirt,” he says, his eyes lighting up.
“And you’re in the same clothes you were wearing when you left here last night.”
He starts to speak then stops himself. I certainly can’t say anything more because I don’t know whether to laugh or cry or ask questions.
What is going on here?
As if he can read my mind, he springs to life. “We have twenty minutes. You gotta get dressed, babe.”
“For what?”
“Do we not play at two thirty?”
“I … I mean, yeah. But you left and …”
“And I’m back.” His smile softens. “Now get that fine, little ass of yours into something that you can wear in public. I’ll get your bag out of your car. We gotta go.”
“Jory?”
He slides a kiss across my lips as he moves by me, side-stepping the glass. “We’ll get that later. Do you have anything I can grab quick to eat? I’m fucking starving.”
“Yeah. I mean, there’s a banana and probably some snack cakes in the pantry. Jory, what’s happening?”
He closes the fridge and faces me. The crooked smile that I love so much shines back at me like a beacon guiding me home.
“This is not the way that I wanted to do this,” he says. “But you’re not going to stop asking until I answer you and we gotta go.” He smiles. “So, the quick version is this: I drove Gus to the hospital and sat with him for an hour or so. Then I got gas, a cup of coffee, and an energy drink and came back. I’m hungry. I’m tired. And I owe a county in Kentucky like two hundred bucks for speeding.”
I gasp. “Are you kidding me?”
“I am not. But it’s a small price to pay to keep my promise to the woman I love.”
My hand covers my mouth, and I know there’s no stopping the tears this time.
He wraps me up in his arms and kisses my forehead. “I love you, Markie. I’m going to be honest and tell you that I don’t know what this looks like. I don’t know how we make it work—only that we will. We have to, babe. If that’s what losing you feels like, I can’t do it again.” He grins, swiping the wetness from my cheeks with his thumbs. “And I’m pretty sure Gus would never speak to me again, either.”
“I love you,” I say, laughing through my tears. “I love you so much.”
“Then never send a text like you sent me a little bit ago again.” He groans. “That about killed me.”
“Why didn’t you call?”
He lets me go and smacks my ass. “Because you turned your phone off. Now get dressed. We have a pickleball tournament to win.”
CHAPTER
THIRTY-ONE
Markie
“Grab the wheel,” Jory says as we head toward the park.
“What?”
“Hold the wheel. I need to change my shirt.”
He grips the edge of his shirt, so I lean over and hold the steering wheel so that we don’t crash.
“I cried myself to sleep last night,” I say, making sure we don’t hit a pothole in the road. “And now you’re literally shirtless beside me after telling me that you love me. I don’t know what kind of restraint you think I have, but you’re wrong.”