Total pages in book: 90
Estimated words: 89012 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 445(@200wpm)___ 356(@250wpm)___ 297(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 89012 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 445(@200wpm)___ 356(@250wpm)___ 297(@300wpm)
“I’m free,” I say.
“I actually have tomorrow night off at Smokey’s,” Rebecca says.
“Great. Let’s meet there at nine. Wear your dancing shoes, ladies.” Sara waves. “See you then.”
“Bye,” we call after her as the door clicks shut.
Rebecca and I sigh, then laugh.
“She’s a whirlwind,” Rebecca says. “I need to get to work too. I picked up an evening shift, and it starts in twenty minutes. I won’t be home until late.”
“Go. I’ll see you tonight.”
She stands and straightens her Smokey’s work shirt. “I’m glad you went and had fun. It gives me hope.”
My brow furrows, but the look in her eyes stops me from asking her what she means.
“See you tonight,” she says, heading for the door.
“Bye, Bec.”
And for the first time all week, I’m alone.
I sit still for a few minutes and relish in the quiet. I use the time to replay the past few days and enjoy the peace in my soul.
Then I miss him.
I sort through our pictures from the trip. The pictures with my wedding ring. The shots from the boat with the pigs behind us. Selfies that we snapped randomly at the pool, on the balcony, and during our walks on the beach.
I’ve never seen myself that happy. I’ve never seen joy on my face like that. I’m radiating it—even I can see it—and I think I can see it on his face too.
I grin and pull up his name.
Me: I miss James.
His response is immediate.
Him: I’m glad he was so memorable.
Me: I also miss you.
Him: I stopped at the office to make sure nothing fell apart while I was gone. It didn’t. Know what that means?
Me: Nope.
Him: That means if you know a travel agent, we should totally take another trip.
My cheeks ache from smiling.
Me: I happen to know one, actually. Any time you want to get away, just let me know, and I’ll make it happen.
Him: How about a week at the end of next month? Tati’s kids will be in school, so it’ll be easier on her to manage this place.
I fall back on the cushions and laugh out loud. Is this real?
Me: Anywhere in particular?
Him: Somewhere warm so I can have you naked outside. Fuck, that was one of the best afternoons of my life.
Same.
Him: I’m leaving now and heading home. Want to have phone sex later?
I laugh.
Me: Sure. Audio or video?
Him: VIDEO. Wear that purple-y lingerie that you wore for me on our trip.
Me: Okay.
Him: I’d have you come over, but I’m sure I have a million things to take care of, and I can’t swear my family won’t come by. And I think I’ll be dealing with Banks and these fucking stickers.
Me:
Him:
Me: I have a lot to do tonight anyway. So sexting it is. What time are you calling?
Him: I’ll text you first. Around ten?
Me: Perfect. I’ll be ready and waiting.
Him:
Me:
I start to put my phone away but have another idea. I swipe through my photo album until I find the one I’m looking for.
With a few swipes, the selfie I took on the boat—the one of a clear shot of my cleavage and body in my bikini—is sent to Maddox’s phone.
Immediately, my phone buzzes.
Maddox: And to think that I’ve touched and licked every single inch of that tight little body.
I look at the ceiling and swoon. Lucky me.
I begin to text him back when another message pops up. This time, every muscle in my body tightens.
Eton: Are you finished being ridiculous? You’ve proven your point.
Instead of getting angry or sad or confused—instead of needing time to even think about his message—I laugh.
I find a picture of the pigs and me and fire it his way.
Me: Fuck off.
I turn off my phone and go unpack.
TWENTY-THREE
Maddox
Home, sweet—holy shit.
I drop my bags by the door and then close it behind me. What the hell happened here?
The lights are on. All of them. Even the one in the coat closet that I don’t use. Banks’s boots and socks are all over the entryway—the socks not in the boots and the boots not together.
Did he move in while I was gone?
I tiptoe into the kitchen, fully expecting a marked disaster. It’s a good thing I prepped myself.
A cereal box is on the island with the top unsealed. Fruity Pebbles are scattered around it. A jug of milk—empty, I assume—is next to the refrigerator, and the microwave is wide open. Yellow dust that I can only assume is cheese powder from microwavable mac-and-cheese cups faintly covers the countertop.
I’m gonna kill him.
I head toward the living room, fearing what I might find there, when the front door slams. Banks comes into the kitchen and swallows me in a hug before I have the chance to say a word.
“You’re home,” he says, patting my back before releasing me. “It’s been so quiet without you.”