Total pages in book: 68
Estimated words: 65582 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 328(@200wpm)___ 262(@250wpm)___ 219(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 65582 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 328(@200wpm)___ 262(@250wpm)___ 219(@300wpm)
Seriously, I would have. She’s the same person.
I don’t want to pummel V our first time together. Finding balance means one too many hand jobs in the meantime. We’ve barely texted, both of us more busy with work than we’d like as the year starts coming to a close. She’s been working late most nights and I’m working every night this week so I can get Saturday off. It’s been a good distraction.
You know what’s not?
Isabella Collins.
And here I thought it would be just another Thursday night. I sense her the second she and the storm that swarms around her enter The Hideaway. Checking my watch. 9:37 p.m. There’s something about her being here at this hour on a school night that tells me trouble just walked in.
Her eyes are on me the moment she walks in, which sucks because she catches my eyes on her. I look down quickly, pretending to wash glasses. She knows me better than I’d like to admit, though to my credit, she only really knows the old me—asshole investment advisor, modern loft with massive parties, and two thousand dollar suits. Well the suits haven’t changed. I still like a nice suit and my watch collection, but I don’t have to wear them every day. Only when I want. Wonder if I should wear my charcoal Vittori on our date. Date is used loosely since Virginia friend-zoned me last weekend. After Saturday, I’m going to be dancing in her end zone. Wait, what?
“Hello, Hardy.”
Looking up, I see Isabella. I’d almost forgotten about her. Almost. “Slumming, Isabella?”
“You’re always raving about Brooklyn, so I thought I’d come visit.”
I rest my palms on the bar, and ask, “Are you visiting the borough or me?”
“Can’t I be doing both?”
“You were always one for ulterior motives.”
She slips onto the stool in front of me. “You know what I like.”
I do. She’s predictable in every way. In other words, she’s the complete opposite of Virginia. While making her vodka soda, I start trying to remember what attracted me to Isabella in the first place. It’s been a while since I’ve thought back to those days in detail. Mostly because so much of it was blurred by the booze. It’s funny that now that I own a bar, I drink less overall. Most days I don’t drink at all. Tonight, thanks to the woman sitting in front of me, won’t be one of those days. I twist the lime into the drink and add a lime peel curly on the top. I still have standards, even if I despise the customer.I grab a glass and pour a whiskey neat for myself. I take a good pull before setting it down, and asking, “What really brings you by?”
“You.”
“I was afraid of that.”
“Nothing to be afraid of. I’ve just been thinking about you.”
The bar is fairly calm at this time, so Clive has it handled. When I turn back to her, I say, “Don’t. Don’t think about me. You’re married. We’ve been long over.”
Her index finger runs the rim of her glass several times. “What if we didn’t have to be?”
“I don’t date married women.” I give the most obvious out to end this.
“What if I wasn’t married anymore?”
I take another long drink of the alcohol before I burst out laughing. The insult is seen in her eyes since most of her face doesn’t move. “I wish I could say I was surprised.”
“Maybe some sympathy is in order.”
“What game are you trying to play? We did nothing but fight.”
“We were young.”
“We’re not that much older. Four years.”
“I feel like I’ve lived a lifetime in that four years.” She takes a sip and then says, “I caught him fucking his secretary.” This time the glass is to her lips much longer and when the glass is set down, half is gone.
“I’m sorry.” I mean it too. No one deserves to be cheated on and in such a cliché manner makes it worse. “Are you still together?”
“No. I left a month ago. He’s fighting me on all fronts—financially and for custody of our son. I haven’t gotten to see him in three weeks.”
My head is shaking in disgust before she finishes. We may not have been #MFEO but kids need both parents, even if separately. I cover her hand because I’m not heartless. I can tell she needs a friend or a bartender. This comes with the territory. “You deserve better and I have no doubt the final judgment will be in your favor.”
Her hand covers mine. “Thank you. I knew you’d understand.”
“Hi.”
Just right of her, the brunette I’ve been dying to see all week is standing with a grimace on her face, her eyes on my hand that’s currently comforting Isabella. I slide it out and wipe it on my pants. “Hey, V, you’re here?” It comes out like a question though I didn’t intend it that way.