Total pages in book: 86
Estimated words: 80834 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 404(@200wpm)___ 323(@250wpm)___ 269(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 80834 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 404(@200wpm)___ 323(@250wpm)___ 269(@300wpm)
The words stick, and my heart goes out to this handsome, complicated man.
“It’s fine, Jack,” I murmur. “I know you’re normal.”
Something flickers in those blue eyes, but then he smiles.
“What about you?” he asks. “Gerald says you’re the brains at your law firm.”
I roll my eyes and giggle. “Not really because I’m just a paralegal. Not even a paralegal, but more the human equivalent of a Post-It note. I keep things from falling apart, but nobody remembers who did the gluing.”
Jack nods, a slow, understanding gesture.
“And outside of work?” he presses, blue eyes piercing. “What do you do for fun?”
I’m not about to tell him my hobbies include entertaining strange men while utilizing a camera and ring light, so I give the spiel I always do: “I run. Sometimes I paint. I like to watch those cooking competitions on YouTube, even though I never actually cook.” The lies are so gentle they almost feel like truths.
Jack smiles. “You always were an overachiever, sweetheart.”
I flick a crumb from the table. “Thank you for saying that, Uncle Jack. Your words mean a lot to me. More than you know.”
There’s a beat, and then the massive man leans forward, so close I can see the flecks of grey in his stubble.
“Eliza, tell me the truth. What are we doing here? Give it to me straight. I’m a soldier, and I can take it.”
The honesty is so raw I almost drop my mug. I decide to lean in too, to see what happens if I just go with it.
“I have no idea,” I say, voice barely above a whisper. “But I want you, Uncle Jack. I can’t stop thinking about you. Us. Together.”
“Your dad would murder me if he knew I was here,” he growls, blue eyes flashing. “But I can’t stop thinking about you either.”
There’s a lull, the kind that would be awkward anywhere else but here it’s thick with possibility. I wonder what he’d do if I slid my foot out of my shoe and rested it on his thigh under the table. I don’t, but the thought makes me flush all the way down to my chest.
Then, Jack leans back and the spell is broken. What the hell? Why did his mood morph all of a sudden? It must be something to do with his PTSD, but I lean in as he tells another story, this time about a bar in Guam where a goat got loose and the MPs had to be called in. I lose the thread of the tale halfway through because all I can do is stare at his hands. How they move, how they clench and relax, how I want them all over my body, making me sigh and moan. Jack says the words “honor, duty, dignity” at some point, and that throws me for a loop. I flinch reflexively like he’s tossed cold water in my face because if he knew about the camming, about the way I make money by showing my body—would he run? There’s certainly nothing dignified nor honorable about what I do at my secret job.
I push the thought aside. We’re just getting to know each other, and it’s too early to trouble myself with these thoughts. There’s a time for everything, and something tells me that time isn’t now.
By the time the cookie is gone and the chai is mostly cold, the café has filled up. There’s a couple making out in the corner, and a cluster of teenage girls studying but mostly gossiping.
“It’s getting loud,” Jack says, half-standing. “You want to take a walk, sweetheart?”
I nod, already gathering my bag and phone, and soon, we’re outside. The afternoon is cool and windy, but not unpleasant with the sun shining on my blonde curls. We stroll side by side, not touching, but so close our arms brush every third step. I wonder if he’ll reach for my hand, or if I should reach for his, but we keep the suspense going, like it’s foreplay.
At the corner of the block, Jack stops and turns to me. “You know,” he says in a deep voice, “You make me feel about twenty years younger.”
I smile sweetly. “Is that a compliment, or are you just outing yourself as an old man?”
Jack laughs, a real one, and I’m surprised by how much I like the sound.
“I’m saying I like being around you,” he says, quieter now, “even if it’s reckless.”
I smile coquettishly. “Reckless is underrated.”
There’s a beat where I think Jack’s going to kiss me, right there by the bike rack. But he doesn’t. Instead, he gestures at the little park across the street.
“Walk with me?” he asks.
I nod, and follow, not caring if anyone is watching.
Inside, my pulse is a time bomb. I don’t know if I want him to kiss me, or if I want to keep this right where it is—a suspended, electric maybe.