Total pages in book: 96
Estimated words: 87756 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 439(@200wpm)___ 351(@250wpm)___ 293(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 87756 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 439(@200wpm)___ 351(@250wpm)___ 293(@300wpm)
Then we sat and ate the first real meal I had ever made. Paine led most of the conversation, talking about Shooter and Breaker, how they met, the crazy things they had been involved in. He explained how Breaker met Alex and how Shooter met Amelia, doing so with a fondness that made it clear he wasn't just friends with the women because they came along with his friends, but because he genuinely liked them. Alex, he said, was some kind of computer hacker who could be a bit standoffish at first, but once she warmed up to you, was pretty funny. Apparently watching her and Breaker fight was the highlight of almost every gathering. Breaker liked to pick at her and she always rose to the bait. It sounded downright popcorn-worthy. Amelia, Shooter's girl, was a drug and alcohol counselor. She could occasionally come off as prickly, but was soft underneath it all.
When he was done and we were just sipping wine, he asked about Rome, him being the only truly close friend I had.
I felt almost guilty talking about him with Paine, like it was a betrayal to both of them somehow. Which was ridiculous. But, after a while, I was smiling and laughing as I told him about all the stunts we had pulled together, the vacations we had gone on, the things we had helped each other through: my mother's death, his mother's stints in rehab before she finally got sober five years before, my father's relentless, demanding presence, our breakups, our failures and successes.
"Babygirl..." he said when I finally ran out of things to say. The word hung heavy with meaning.
"I know," I said, looking down at my empty plate.
He nodded, letting it drop, and moved to stand. "You the type who can't go to sleep with dirty dishes?" he asked, bringing both of ours over to the sink.
"I have no idea. I doubt it."
"Good. Then let's go to bed."
Then we went to bed.
Tired and, quite frankly, a little sore from our earlier carnal activities, we just went to sleep.
--
Again, I woke up in my blanket cocoon. And, again, I realized this with a smile. I immediately rolled to my side, looking over at the nightstand. I found another two pictures. I sat up against the headboard and reached for them. The first was a picture of a tattoo gun, which I took to mean he had to get to work. The second, well, the second one was of a man with a red woolen tunic under an armored chest and shoulder plate, a helmet, a sword, and a giant red shield. It didn't take a history major to recognize a Roman soldier. Also, the man had a startling resemblance to Roman. Underneath was a scribbled "set this straight".
So I guess that was what he expected me to do with my day. I wondered if that meant I wouldn't be seeing Paine after work because he wanted me to finally have that supremely awkward conversation with Roman.
And then I internally yelled at myself for thinking that thought because it was a bit too needy early on in our, er, relationship. Hell, as far as I knew, it wasn't even a relationship at all. So I definitely shouldn't have been thinking thoughts like that.
So I totally didn't think about the way his eyes got bright when he talked about his friends, soft when he talked about his friends' girlfriends. I also did not wonder if it meant something that we were at the point of something serious because we were having sex without condoms. If what he said was true and he always used them and I had only ever not used them with one serious long-term boyfriend in my early twenties, that kind-of implied we both felt like there was something different between us, right?
"Augh!" I growled at my reflection, pissed at my internal monologue and annoyed because my hair was doing that 'I'm not going to lay right no matter what tricks you try to tame me' thing. A little rougher than necessary, I tied my hair back. I applied more of the tattoo cover-up, threw on the barest hint of mascara, and headed out the door. The bruises were getting better. I figured by Sunday dinner, there would be next to nothing left there anymore. Which was good because half of the tube of that tattoo stuff was gone.
I got into my office a full hour before anyone, except the early morning cleaning crew, showed up. I pulled out my phone and texted Roman asking him to come over so we could chat after work. It took him almost an hour to answer me, which wasn't like him, saying yeah.
So then I worked.
Seven-thirty rolled around and I wrapped things up, checking my phone on my way out the door and realizing I didn't even have Paine's number. I mean I knew the number to his shop, but not his cell. And, as far as I knew, he didn't have my number either. I was pretty sure that was a pretty huge sign that we weren't in, or heading into, something serious.