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)
I turn to leave, and inside, I catch a glimpse of Eliza clearing the table, her hair in a messy bun, a faint smile on her lips . She’s gorgeous, as usual, with that big bust and curvy hips, humming a bit as she works.
Shit. If there’s a war on, I’m already losing.
And I love every second of going down.
When I get home, the house feels even emptier than usual. There’s a leftover echo of charcoal in my clothes and the lingering taste of small talk in my mouth. I kick off my boots, toss my keys on the counter, and pour myself a glass of the red I saved from last week, just to make the silence feel deliberate.
It’s not even nine, but my body aches with exhaustion—the kind you get from being on high alert for hours, every word and glance a potential grenade. I open a window to let in the night, and in the distance, some kid is blaring a car stereo, the bass thumping in time with my headache.
I’m halfway through my second glass when my phone buzzes.
It’s her.
You home? The message appears, simple, but loaded.
Yeah. You okay? I type back, thumb trembling a little.
I imagine Eliza, holed up in her room, lights off, maybe in comfy PJs. I wonder if she’s crying, or if she’s burning with the same restless energy that’s eating me alive.
My mom’s suspicious. She called me into the kitchen and did the “are you on drugs” stare. If she had a drug test, she would have made me pee in a cup.
I smile a little. You hiding a secret meth lab?
She replies instantly. Only if you’re my first customer.
There’s a beat, then:
We need to be careful, Jack. I don’t want to get you in trouble.
I know. I add a smiley face, just to keep it light, but inside I’m already mapping out new contingencies: no more secret glances, no more touching. Hell, no more being in the same room unless there’s a crowd. But good intentions die hard.
I want to see you, I send, before I can stop myself.
She doesn’t respond right away. I set the phone down, finish my wine, and let my mind drift to the last time we were together—her skin under my hands, her laugh muffled in the pillow, the way she said my name like she was tasting it.
Then, another ping. This time, Eliza’s tone over text is despairing. I don’t how I know, but I just do.
My boss just messaged. Emergency doc review. All night. He’s cc’d the whole team and told us if we screw up, the partner will eat us alive. I want to die, but at least I can do this remotely. Who would have thought this would happen Saturday night?
I almost reply “I’ll save you,” but of course, I can’t. Instead, I write: You got this. You’re smarter than any of them. (Also, your boss is a dick.)
A minute passes. Then:
I can’t do this, Jack. The hiding, the endless work. I’m gonna lose my mind.
My heart swoops because I’d do anything to help her. But right now, all I can offer are kind words.
You can’t be everything to everyone, I write, and then: You’re enough for me.
I can almost see her smile.
You’re the best, she replies. But what if my mom is onto us? What if my dad finds out? I feel like I’m going crazy.
I look around my house—so tidy, so orderly—and wonder how I ever thought I had control of my own life. “Crazy” isn’t even in the top five.
Okay, you’re right. Let’s lay low for a week, I send. No calls, no texts. We’ll meet somewhere safe next time. Like… Siberia.
She sends back three laughing emojis, then: You’re so dramatic. I love it.
There’s another pause. I finish the bottle, listening to the wind rattle the screen door.
Then, a final ping: I wish I was there with you right now.
Me too, I type.
We say goodnight, but I keep the phone beside me, just in case. I watch some TV, but the words blur into nothing. I try to read, but every paragraph turns into a loop of her voice in my ear, the heat of her body next to mine.
Eventually, I shut off the lights and stand by the window, looking out at the empty street.
I think about the last month: the stolen hours, the risks, the way every secret meeting feels more necessary, not less. I know this is unsustainable. I know something’s going to break.
But for now, this is enough. I’m addicted to Eliza … and I can’t give up the curvy girl who drives me crazy.
9
CHAPTER 9 – AN INTIMATE WEEKEND
Eliza
There’s nothing like seeing your parents’ Subaru drive off for a weekend in Wisconsin when you’re conducting a secret affair with a gorgeous man. I wait exactly three minutes after their taillights vanish before sprinting upstairs to pack my overnight bag. It’s not even subtle: I’m bringing a bottle of perfume that Jack loves, a black slip dress I haven’t dared to take out of its wrapping, and a box of condoms that, if I’m honest, will probably be empty before Sunday night. This time, there’s no need to sneak back in before sunrise. For once in my life, I get to do whatever the hell I want, for as long as I want, and what I want is Jack Landry, full stop.