Total pages in book: 87
Estimated words: 80045 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 400(@200wpm)___ 320(@250wpm)___ 267(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 80045 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 400(@200wpm)___ 320(@250wpm)___ 267(@300wpm)
Or it could be his kiss.
Either way, I don't stop.
I can't stop.
And he doesn't either.
CHAPTER 13
LAWSON
“That was seriously so much fun,” Blakely says, looping her arm through mine as we exit the Penobscot Theatre Company, the cracked pavement looking like it may give under our feet as we exit the building.
It's now dark, but Main Street is lit up with golden lights, the theater behind us looking like it might’ve when it opened so many years ago, the gold details on the awning shimmering in a way it didn’t in the daylight.
I keep our stroll casual as we walk down Main Street, knowing I'm not ready for this night to end. “I'm glad you liked it,” I say, and I swallow a little roughly.
I planned this.
I planned a date that wasn't technically a date, for a girl who behaved like my girlfriend but wasn’t technically my girlfriend, because neither one of us supposedly wanted that.
Except that's a lie.
I did want her.
I wanted her to be mine in a way I never wanted anything else to be mine.
I didn't care what she called herself as long as she’s with me. But I also didn't want to be the asshole to tell her that, especially when her ex is still very much in the picture.
“Haven't you ever been there before?” I ask, turning us into a little coffee shop and grabbing us a table near the window.
“I haven’t,” she answers. “I'm kind of regretting never going before, but with school and practicing and the competitions, I just never had much time to explore things like this. Plus, any time I tried to get Brian to do something even a little bit out of the norm...” Her voice trails off and she shakes her head, smiling at the waiter when he comes up to take our coffee orders.
“You haven't brought him up in a couple weeks,” I say after the waiter leaves. “Any new developments?” I hate that I'm so hungry for information, but since our schedules lined up where I could spend Thanksgiving in Colorado with Mom and Lana last week, I haven’t seen Blakely in over five days.
And yes, we’d texted each other every day, but it isn’t the same as actually getting to see her, touch her, watch the little reactions that play across her face before she parts those luscious lips of hers.
She’d spent the holiday with her family and friends, a tradition they've done since they moved out here. I still hadn't met anyone beyond her friends, but I hadn't brought it up because it wasn't like I was whisking her off to meet my mother and sister either.
Slow. We we’re definitely taking this slow.
“His texts and calls have lessened,” she says, shaking her head. “Maybe he’s finally starting to get the point, but with the auditions for that show coming up soon, I'm anticipating an influx of requests.”
The waiter returns with our coffees, and we both pick up the white ceramic mugs and clink them together before taking quick sips of the hot liquid.
“Maybe I should just give in,” she says, and it isn't until she says it that I can see the exhaustion around her eyes when talking about the subject. She’s so very good at hiding the strain that it’s almost easy to believe it doesn’t affect her, strong and stubborn as she is. “Maybe I should just skate with him. Help him get on the reality TV show he wants so badly, and then he'll leave me alone.”
“You're fucking joking, right?” I ask, nearly choking on my second sip of coffee. I set the mug down, my brow furrowed.
She shifts in her chair, then shrugs. “The thought has crossed my mind. Especially when I can't sleep at night because I'm so damn tired of hearing the phone buzz over and over again. I've started to just shut it off when I go to bed, but it's like he's been doing it to me for so many months now that I anticipate it even when I can't hear it. I’ve thought about blocking his number, but I’m afraid he’ll start showing up to my place more if I do. It's getting old—”
“Have you thought any more about going to the police?” I ask.
“I have,” she says. “I've played out the conversation in my head a dozen times. ‘Hello officer, I would like to file a harassment suit against my ex-boyfriend. No, he hasn't physically harmed me, but he keeps calling me a lot and texting. Sometimes he leaves flowers outside my door.’”
“When you say it like that…” I say, cringing just a bit.
“It sounds like I'm being ridiculous, doesn't it? In my mind, the only thing going to the police would do would…at the very least piss him off. Let's say the cops take me seriously and go talk to him. Tell him to stop doing what he's doing. He won't take that lightly. I know him well enough for that.” She blows out a breath. “But, if I gave him what he wanted... maybe he’d ride off into the sunset and forget I ever existed.”