Total pages in book: 94
Estimated words: 92371 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 462(@200wpm)___ 369(@250wpm)___ 308(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 92371 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 462(@200wpm)___ 369(@250wpm)___ 308(@300wpm)
Alice shakes with laughter as she finishes putting dated labels on the sealed jars of tomatoes and onions. “You’re ruining my fantasy.”
“Fantasy? What fantasy?” I cross my arms over my chest and lean my shoulder against the fridge. There are so many things I want to ask her, but I don’t know where to begin. So I opt for anything that will bring a smile to her face.
“Mr. Morrison has a real charm about him. And while he sneaks no less than a hundred peeks a day at my legs, I love the way he curls Vera’s hair behind her ear before he kisses her cheek and whispers, ‘I love you,’ in that ear. And Vera always blushes like they’ve been dating for weeks instead of married for years. It’s sweet.” She caps the marker and faces me.
I glance at my watch without actually paying attention to the time. “I’m taking a quick break before getting back to work. Let’s get in the pool.”
“Can’t. I’m on the clock.”
“Who’s going to know?”
“Anyone who looks at the security cameras.”
“We’ll pause them.”
Alice scoffs. “No. We won’t be pausing anything. Enjoy your swim.”
“It feels like a crime that you’ve never shown me your synchronized swimming moves.”
She sets the jars in the divided storage bin. “Look up the word synchronized and you’ll discover it means two or more things occurring at the same time. Then you’ll think about it for a moment and realize there’s a reason synchronized swimming doesn’t have an individual field.”
“Are you mocking my intelligence?”
“No. Am I embarrassed for you? Perhaps.”
I chuckle. “I’ll be your synchronized swimming partner.”
She slides the bin full of jars off the counter, so I take it from her and carry it to the root cellar in the basement, hoping Chris wasn’t her synchronized swimming partner. Was Chris a man or woman?
“Thirty minutes,” I say, setting it on the empty shelf.
She closes the door behind us and heads back up the stairs. “Then I’ll have to dry my hair.”
“It’s a little after one. I’m meeting Hunter at the country club for dinner, so he won’t be home until eight or later tonight. I think you have plenty of time to dry your hair.”
She heads toward the laundry room, and I grab her wrist to stop her. I feel all kinds of things I shouldn’t feel. Her eyes flit to my hand on her wrist and then shift to my face. “It’s a bad idea.”
I smirk. “I can think of worse ones.”
Chapter Thirty-One
Alice
Pain doesn’t disappear.
It multiplies, divides, disperses,
and even hides for a while.
It’s a thirty-minute dip in the pool. Yet, I’ve tried on all three bikinis a half dozen times. Murphy is marrying Blair. I’m in love having sex with Callen. I like my job. It’s been eight years. And the list of reasons I don’t need to fuss over what bikini to wear goes to infinity.
When I reach the pool, he’s casually doing back strokes. He lifts his head to look at me. And when he smiles, I jump in so he doesn’t see my whole body blush. Before I lose my nerve, I go straight into a series of pikes, arches, thrusts, and twists.
Murphy gives me a slow clap and whistles when I finish. After I swim to the shallow end, I return a dramatic bow.
“Damn. And here I thought you were feeding me a line of shit about synchronized swimming.”
I slick back my hair and wring it out over one shoulder. “Okay. Your turn.”
“My turn?” He jabs his thumb into his chest.
I nod.
“You’re supposed to teach me.”
“I just did.”
He laughs. “That’s not teaching, but fine. I’ll show you my moves. Prepare to be impressed.” He dives under the water and does a handstand in the shallow end, followed by several somersaults in the deep end. Pushing off the bottom of the pool, he shoots into the air with his arms out like the aquatic edition of YMCA.
When he finishes, I reciprocate the enthusiastic applause and whistle. He shakes his head like a dog, his grin on the verge of cracking his face in two.
“Not gonna lie, I’ve been practicing,” he says.
I roll my lips together and nod, eyes wide.
“Are you mocking me?”
I shake my head.
He narrows his eyes, moving toward me like a shark. “You are.”
I shake my head faster. “No!” A squeal escapes my chest when he scoops me up and tosses me into the deep end. When I come up for air, I swipe my arm along the surface, splashing water in his direction.
He laughs, turning his head to the side.
The straps around my neck are not totally untied, but they’re loose, so I adjust them and retie it. “You about made me lose my top.”
Murphy lets his focus slip to my chest before our eyes meet again, and he smirks. It feels both wrong and familiar. We didn’t fade. The attraction didn’t die. We simply ended. It’s like the emotion and passion have been on pause. Does he feel it too? Is it why moving on feels like going nowhere?