Total pages in book: 29
Estimated words: 27313 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 137(@200wpm)___ 109(@250wpm)___ 91(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 27313 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 137(@200wpm)___ 109(@250wpm)___ 91(@300wpm)
My gaze catches on the toddler’s scribbles, my sister’s tidy handwriting at the bottom reading, “Christmas 2022.” She’d given them as gifts to all the family, and though I loved my niece and tried to be a good uncle, I’d never felt particularly paternal. But suddenly, all I can think about is having a little kid with huge blue eyes leaving scribbles on my desk, being chased about the apartment by a girl with bright blond hair and a voice as sweet as her perfume.
My hand clenches on the edge of my desk so hard my knuckles go white. The longing grows until it consumes me, regret filling me until I can’t breathe properly. I haven’t just lost the girl of my dreams, I’ve lost a future we could’ve had together.
I stand again, unable to sit still. My feet pace my apartment through the interconnected rooms until I’m standing frozen in the middle of my lounge. My gaze is glued to my armchair, or more specifically, the shirt thrown over the back of it.
I stripped it off as soon as I walked in the door last night and threw it at the chair intending to get rid of it in the morning. But now that morning’s here, the idea of crumpling it up and tossing it in the trash is unacceptable.
Instead, I stalk towards it, snatching it up to examine. The white cotton is ruined, stained pale pink, still smelling of sweet fruit. I inhale it deeply, eyes closing as if I can conjure up Savannah if I try hard enough.
If anyone saw me now, standing alone in the middle of the room clutching a ruined shirt to my face, they’d think I’d gone insane. Not that I care. Giving a fuck about what other people think isn’t what’s made me one of the CEOs at a very successful, very lucrative investment firm. I lost the ability to value strangers’ opinions of me a long time ago.
Except, I’d kill to know what Savannah thought of me. Is she going as out of her mind as I am? Does she regret rushing off as much as I regret not stopping her? Or has she forgotten about me entirely?
The last thought feels like a punch to the gut, and I grit my teeth. She can’t have forgotten. I felt the combustible chemistry between us like a physical flame, felt the way she responded to my kisses, my touch. She was going to let me take her somewhere, just us, before her phone rang.
I fold the shirt and set it back on the chair. I can’t even bring myself to wash the thing. Then I straighten, force my legs to take me back to my office, and sip my coffee as I stare at my to-do list blankly.
There’s always work to be done. Clients don’t care about things as arbitrary as weekends or the time. There’s five emails in my inbox alone from yesterday evening, last night, and early this morning. Three of them could’ve been sent to my secretary to deal with…if I had one.
I sigh, pinching the bridge of my nose. My black coffee is still scalding hot but I sip it anyway, needing the caffeine rush if I have any chance of making it through the day. By the time I’ve answered just two of the emails with as little passive aggressiveness as I could muster, I’m thanking the universe that I’ll have someone else to do this for me on Monday.
I click open the third email. It’s only two lines long but no matter how many times I scan the letters, I can’t focus enough to actually read them. My brain changes sales to Savannah, broadcast to bar, and credit to cocktail.
“For fuck’s sake,” I curse to myself, head falling into my hands. If I could just see her, talk to her, even text her, this gnawing ache would ease. I have too much to do to afford to be distracted, but no matter what I do, my head won’t clear. It’s like she’s cast a spell over me, her magic clinging to my skin, seeping into my thoughts every time I try and force my brain to focus on something else.
Frustration builds inside me, a coil of angry tension winding tighter and tighter until I’m going mad.
I need to find her.
4
SEAN
This is either very creepy or very romantic, I think to myself as I stand outside the bar. I’ve spent all fucking day fixated on one thing and one thing only, and I might turn to tearing my house apart if I don’t do something about it.
I hadn’t even been able to eat my fucking lunch because all I craved was strawberries rolled in sugar.
So here I am. Outside the same bar I was in last night, glaring up at the old, worn sign as though I can force the letters to rearrange themselves into her address. Okay, yeah, it’s definitely creepy if I turn up at her door but…shit, I’m desperate here.