Total pages in book: 80
Estimated words: 78108 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 391(@200wpm)___ 312(@250wpm)___ 260(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 78108 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 391(@200wpm)___ 312(@250wpm)___ 260(@300wpm)
“That’s not true,” he says, always my biggest fan. Funny, how he needled me for so long, but underneath it all, he was right behind me, believing in me.
Except, he’s wrong.
“It is true. I want sparks and butterflies, but I settled because I was scared. I wanted the reassurance of a relationship without the risk of one. Then, with you, I was truly open. And that’s what I need to do going forward. But it’s going to take me longer to get over this week than it took me to get over Mister Cheese Douche, so I’m going to take my time.”
He furrows his brow, then says, like the words are strangling him, “Like some time off from dating?”
I nod, resolute. “Yes. I need to work on myself. I need to get over…my wish for next week.”
He steps closer, reaches for me, his lips parting, his voice flooding with genuine emotion as he whispers, “Juliet.”
He sounds heartbroken. Maybe he is. I don’t think I can handle his heartbreak right now. Not when I feel too much of my own. I hold up a stop sign hand. “I understand all your reasons, Monroe. I respect them.” A car engine rumbles nearby, then cuts off. I glance toward the bedroom door as if I can see the front door and, likely, Rachel beyond. “But right now, I need to just…do my makeup and meet you at the party. And then my friends and I are going to do karaoke after.” I flash him my best smile, meaning it this time. “I won’t make you do karaoke,” I say playfully.
“But I would,” he says, reaching for my hand, trying to hold on. “I want to be the man for you. Know that.”
It almost sounds like he’s imploring me to stay. But his eyes brim with both hope and, I think, resignation too. He doesn’t think he’s capable. He doesn’t think he ever will be.
At least, he’s being vulnerable too. That’s all I can ask. “I do know that. Thank you for being honest.”
He’s not asking me to wait for him though. He didn’t then. He’s not asking it now.
There are words, and there are actions. I need both. I deserve both. Monroe knows it, and the fact that he knows makes me fall a little bit harder.
But he’s not able to catch me.
“I’ll see you at the party,” I say, and since Rachel’s here, I leave.
31
PITY PARTY
Monroe
Supposedly, when one door closes, another opens. But I’ve never been a big believer in that adage. You have to open your own damn doors, and close them too.
But this time I literally believe it, since seconds after Juliet takes off with my heart in her hands, Carter strolls in. My football-playing friend jerks his gaze behind him as Rachel and Juliet drive off. Then snaps his focus back to me, assessing me with shrewd eyes. “Dude,” Carter says, shaking his head as he strides across the living room.
And…that’s all it takes for him to read the room.
Standing in the hallway, still shell-shocked, still hollow as a jack o’ lantern, I shrug. Listlessly. “Yeah.”
“Seriously?” he asks, quirking a brow as he confirms his take.
“Yes, seriously,” I say, voice dead.
He stops a few feet in front of me. “You’re just letting her go?”
I wave a hand. “It’s complicated.”
“Heart surgery is complicated. This is easy.”
I stare at him like he didn’t just say that. “Just because something isn’t heart or brain surgery doesn’t make it easy. Just because something is about emotions, or choices, doesn’t mean it’s simple.”
He holds up his hands. “My bad. When it comes to analogies, that is. Point is, this is easy.”
I check the time on my phone. I’m not due at my dad’s party for a couple hours and it doesn’t take me long to get ready. I’m itching to get away from the scent of her, the feel of her, the thoughts of her. “I need to get out of this house. Stat.”
“Let me buy you a shot? That is easy.”
I give him a humorless smile. “Good analogy.”
We take off in my car and head to Mister Fox, a pool hall on the edge of town. At the bar, we grab stools a few spots away from an inked, burly guy who’s even bigger than Carter. Since my buddy’s six-three, that’s saying something. The dark-haired man gives us a chin nod.
There aren’t many of us here at this earlyish hour, so the bartender heads over to us. The guy looks a little like, well, a fox, with his tawny hair and sharp eyes. “What can I get for you?”
“Two shots of Adictivo,” I say.
“Coming right up,” he says, then heads to the end of the counter to hunt for the tequila bottle.
Carter wastes no time, dealing me a hard stare. “So what’s the deal? Did you two break up?”