Total pages in book: 77
Estimated words: 75640 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 378(@200wpm)___ 303(@250wpm)___ 252(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 75640 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 378(@200wpm)___ 303(@250wpm)___ 252(@300wpm)
Or maybe her battery died?
Or maybe…maybe Angel Cake is punishing me for going out with another woman instead of keeping our non-date date by giving me the fucking silent treatment?
If that’s the case, then I’ll pledge allegiance to my fucking hand.
Take a celibacy vow.
Become a child rescuing monk.
Whatever I gotta do to prevent this…nightmare from repeating itself.
We’ve never not talked this long when I’m home.
And I honestly don’t fucking care for it.
Lila waits until it’s just us again to inquire, “Work text?”
“Nah, I’m out of commission for at least a day or two.”
“Just a day or two? I could’ve sworn Vi Vi said Blu was gonna be home for at least a week this time.”
Doubtful.
Blu bitches about not being here enough, but we both know he craves the rush of a rescue about as much as I do.
“It’s hard to predict exactly when an assignment we wanna take will come in,” reaching for my beer again rather than the menu I’ve yet to look at mindlessly occurs, “but it’s mandatory that we wait for paperwork from the last job to clear the system before takin’ on a new one, which for most operatives is at least a week.”
“But not you?”
“I’ve uh…I’ve got an in in that department.” Smiling at the mere thought of her is a habit I know I’ll never break. “So, unless there’s a required psych sign off, she never makes me wait longer than I want.”
“And is she sending the text you’re waiting on?”
“Yeah.”
“But it’s not work?”
My answer precedes another sip. “Correct.”
Lila momentarily pressing her lips together is followed by a contemplative hum. “And exactly how long have you been in love with her?”
Being caught completely off guard by her blunt yet accurate accusation causes me to instantly choke on the latest mouthful headed down my throat. Loud, unbecoming coughs prompt me to pound my chest to assist in correcting the swallowing process; however, the redder in the face I get, the more amused she becomes.
She thinks death is funny?
What kind of sick, twisted woman did Aviva hook me up with?!
The moment I’ve finally managed to collect my composure, she playfully pokes, “That long, huh?”
My mouth moves to deny it only to be met by a challenging smirk, daring me to lie.
Daring me to invalidate my earlier claim of being a man of my word.
Which I am.
Which is why Angel Cake should’ve known if she didn’t want me to reschedule our session all she had to do was say something.
Fuck…anything.
She always comes first.
Always.
She knows that.
Or at least…I thought she did.
“I see.” Lila snickers at my silence prior to slowly nodding. “What’s her name?”
“Should we uh…um…look at the uh,” I kick my chin to the thick object, “menu now?”
“No.”
My date’s nonchalant refusal has me open mouth gawking again.
“Tell me her name.”
“Now, you don’t have manners?”
The poke to my earlier behavior causes her to smirk. “Please.”
“Arley.”
“Wow,” she unexpectedly beams, “you can’t even say her name without smiling.”
Heat burrows itself into my complexion prompting the need to hide my face.
Wash down the sourness of shame.
My date for the evening lifts her cocktail glass at the same time she investigates, “How long have you two known each other?”
“Six almost seven years.”
“And you’ve been in love with her…?”
“Six,” another gulp is used to shove down the new shame, “almost seven years.”
“Aw,” the woman across from me sweetly coos a second time, tempting me to glance away from the gushing, “love at first sight?”
“Uh…” my beer finds its way back to the table. “Something like that.”
“How’d you two meet?”
“We got trapped in an elevator together.”
Her blue eyes widen to the size of the bread plates I get the feeling will be the only ones we use for the night. “What?!”
“Yeah,” warm chuckles thoughtlessly grace the table, “and it was my first day of work.”
“Ohmygod!”
“Probably would’ve been the worst first day ever had I not been locked away with her for three hours.” Recalling the event that’s imprinted into the very fiber of my existence is effortlessly done. “We sat on the floor. Shared a blueberry muffin. Of course when I say share, I mean, she picked out the blueberries to not eat, so I ate them.” More laughs fall free. “We talked about hockey and space travel and the weird sounds we’ve heard animals make and I don’t know. Time just…flew by. She was the easiest person to talk to that I had ever met.” An innocent shrug is wedged between statements. “Still is. We can talk about anything. Everything.”
“Except you being in love with her.”
Guilt has me redirecting my gaze down to my device. “Except that.”
“And why not?”
One gentle tap reveals the communication situation is still unchanged, which leaves me with no choice but to physically face the interrogation in front of me. “How about we change subjects?”
“How about this is the most you’ve said all night?”