Total pages in book: 80
Estimated words: 77900 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 390(@200wpm)___ 312(@250wpm)___ 260(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 77900 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 390(@200wpm)___ 312(@250wpm)___ 260(@300wpm)
“Maybe,” he says, not really committing. “What I do know is that if you don’t keep trying, if you don’t know that you’ve exhausted every effort to fix whatever this is between you, then you’ll live with that regret for the rest of your life.”
“Who is she?” I ask him. It’s a ballsy move on my part, but if he’s going to offer his words of wisdom, I should know if he truly understands.
“She’s in the past, but I have those regrets, Reid. I didn’t fight hard enough, and that’s something I have to live with. I don’t want that for you.”
“I’m not giving up on her. She’s different, you know? She sees me, but this is a first: a woman refusing time with me because of my career. She doesn’t care about fame or my bank account. And I crave her company,” I tell him. It’s more than that. I crave the feeling of her soft skin against mine, the taste of her on my tongue, and the feeling of her wrapped tightly around my cock. I miss the conversation, the laughter. Fuck me, I just miss her. She’s the entire package, and I’ll be damned if I let her slip through my fingers.
“Maybe it’s not too late for you,” I tell him. “Maybe you didn’t fight hard enough then, but you can now.”
“Nah, my time has long since passed.”
“But you want her?”
“With every breath I take,” he says. He clears his throat and stands. He’s said too much, gotten too close to his past, and he’s running from it. “Don’t stop fighting, Reid. Trust me on this one.” He nods, as if his words are the final say in my life, and walks away. He settles on the edge of the pool and starts talking to Baker as he pushes a still-laughing Camden around in his floating baby innertube.
I watch everyone for a while, but the ache of her not being here is too much. I need to hear her voice. Grabbing my phone, I dial her number and place it to my ear.
“Hello?” she asks, sounding weak.
“What’s wrong?” I’m immediately on alert.
“Nothing’s wrong.”
“Bellamy.”
“Nothing’s wrong. I just ate some bad food. I had leftover Chinese for lunch, and it’s not agreeing with me. I think it might have been bad.”
“Do we need to take you to the hospital to be checked out?”
“Reid, I’m fine. I’m just feeling blah, so I’m holding down the couch, watching trash TV.”
“Do you need anything?”
“I’m good,” she assures me.
“Now, I feel like a dick.”
“What? Why?”
“Because I’m sitting here at Landry’s place for the cookout, moping because I wanted you here with me today, and now I find out you’re sick.”
“Just a little blah. I’m fine, and you’re not a dick. I kind of wish you were a dick. That would make my life easier,” she says.
“How so?” I ask her, ignoring everything around me and focusing on our conversation.
“Contrary to what you might think, I don’t hate you, Reid. I hate your job. I hate your connection to the game and my father. I hate that you’re the first man to make me feel anything, and I can’t have you.”
“You can have me,” I tell her. “I’m right here waiting for you.”
“I can’t have you. It was hell, the way he walked away. I can’t risk that happening.”
“That’s him. Not the job,” I remind her.
“It’s the same to me. I know that might sound irrational, but I don’t know any other way to feel about it. I’m sorry, Reid.”
“Let me show you,” I tell her. “I’ll show you that you come first.”
“We barely know each other. It’s hard for me to believe that you’re all in after one night.”
“One incredible life-changing night, Bell.”
“I should let you go. You’re with your friends.”
“I’m doing exactly what I want to be doing. No, that’s not true. I’d rather be holding you while you’re sick, but talking to you will have to do. Are you sure you’re okay?”
“I’m sure,” she replies, her tone soft.
“Will you call me if you need anything or if you start to feel worse?”
“Probably not,” she admits. “You’re busy, and I’m just going to lie here and watch mindless TV, then go to bed. I’m not going to bother you when you’re busy.”
“Please?” There it is again, me begging for more from her. There’s a knot in my gut thinking about her sitting in her house all alone when she might need me.
“Fine,” she concedes, but we both know she’s lying. She’s agreeing to humor me.
“I’ll call you in a little while to check on you. Will you answer?” I ask her.
There’s a long, silent pause. “Yeah,” she finally says. “I’ll answer.”
“Get some rest.”
“Okay.” There’s a slight pause, and it feels as if she wants to say more. “Thank you for wanting to check on me. Bye, Reid,” she says, and the line goes dead. She ends the call, not giving me a chance to rejoice in the fact that I feel her thawing. She wants this, wants us, and slowly, I’m scaling those walls. It’s a good thing, because this was starting to shape up to be one of those “you hang up, no, you hang up” teenage situations. I didn’t want to end our call, but she’s not feeling well, and hanging on the phone with me is the last thing she wants to do.