Total pages in book: 45
Estimated words: 43540 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 218(@200wpm)___ 174(@250wpm)___ 145(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 43540 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 218(@200wpm)___ 174(@250wpm)___ 145(@300wpm)
I inhale deeply. We can’t keep doing this. Fighting and fucking, fucking and fighting. It’s messing both of us up. She no longer belongs to me. I need to put my feelings aside and stop with these games because I’m playing with fire here.
I debate about giving her space, but the silence worries me. I throw on a clean shirt and head out, ready to rescue her for a third time, but surprisingly, she’s in the kitchen, pouring two glasses of bourbon.
“When did you start drinking bourbon?” I ask, grabbing her attention.
“I don’t. They’re both for you. I’m going to drink this moonshine.”
“That shit’s strong.”
“Perfect. Exactly what I need right now.” She slides the two glasses across the counter and then pours half a glass of moonshine. Smelling it, her nose turns up. “Or not. Do you have anything to mix this with?”
“Still in your martini phase?” I smile at her, remembering what a martini connoisseur she was.
“Duh, who loses their love of martinis? I told you, one of these days, I’m going to write a martini recipe book. Make millions. People need to show more love for them. All the combinations you can create? They’re endless!” My cock jerks against my jeans. She always got overly excited when she talked about fucking martinis. I thought it was dumb as shit, but man, did it turn me on.
I lift one of my glasses. “Should I assume there’s poison in this?”
“Never say never. Cheers.” She lifts her glass to mine. Dying with her in sight isn’t a terrible way to go, so I take down the whole glass. “Feel anything yet?”
“No, but should I give you the password to my safe with my millions, just in case?”
Her eyes widen. “You have millions?”
I pretend to fake cough. “I guess. . . you’ll. . . never—” I grab my chest.
“Oh, stop it. If I wanted to kill you, I would be way more creative and draw it out. Poisoning someone is the weakest way to do it.”
“Wow. I suddenly feel much safer in your presence. Tell me more.”
She shrugs, taking a sip of the moonshine. “Well, for starters, I’d wait till you fell asleep. God, this is awful.”
“It’s not meant for a weak stomach. And what would you do once I fell asleep?”
I watch her as she pretends to ponder, tapping her bottom lip. I clutch my glass, fighting not to drag her across the counter into my lap. “Hmm. . . I’d probably get you naked and draw all over you, like penises or something. Then, take pictures and post them on social media. Public humiliation is basically death by torture.”
The way her cheeks are turning red tells me that she’s thinking about me naked. She tries to mask it by taking too large a sip and choking, spitting some of it out. “God, I think I just poisoned myself.”
My chest rumbles, and I stand, walking around the counter to the cabinet above the sink. “Here. Drink this.”
Her eyes light up like I just gave her a new puppy, and she grabs the bottle of wine. “Oh my god! I love you!” She catches herself after the words fall off her tongue. “I mean, the wine. I love the wine. I thought you didn’t drink wine.”
“I don’t.”
“Then why do you have it?” There she goes with those wheels spinning. “Oh, was this. . . in case you had a friend over?”
“I don’t have a friend. I just have it.”
“Oh,” is all she returns with. “Well, I don’t either. Have a friend if you were wondering. So you don’t think we’re doing something wrong here.”
There she goes, ruining a moment. “I wasn’t worried. You want the bottle or not?”
“Yeah. Sorry.”
I hand her the bottle opener, grab my other glass, and take it down in one sip.
“So, what? You’re mad again? Are you ever not mad?”
“Not mad, Cal.”
“Uh, pretty sure we were on our way to some sort of middle ground until you got all pissy with me.”
“You’re just overthinkin’ it.”
“I’m not. Jesus. Since when did you become so damn stubborn?”
“Since I’ve had a lot of time to think.” I turn and walk over to the window when something hits my back. I look down at the wine cork, then cock my head. “You throw that at me?”
“Shame it was your back and not your eye. If you’re going to make a comment like that, then finish it. What did you have to think about?”
“Okay. Fine. I had a lot of time to think about us. You. What went wrong. Questioned myself. Did I ever do anything to make you believe I would ever stray? Did I miss the signs that maybe, somehow, you’d fallen out of love with me, and that’s why it was so easy for you to walk away—”
“It was not easy.”