Total pages in book: 93
Estimated words: 89145 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 446(@200wpm)___ 357(@250wpm)___ 297(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 89145 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 446(@200wpm)___ 357(@250wpm)___ 297(@300wpm)
For the area he lived in on Pine, the house had to have been at least one point five.
Most of the photos were taken outside, however. In the car—his very expensive car—at the grocery store, water parks, toy stores, road trips…
That was one of the things I missed more than I could say. We’d loved heading out. Spur-of-the-moment road trips—and I never cared where we went. Down the shore, to Florida, New York, DC, the weekend we’d spent in Savannah, the time we’d tried hiking in the Shenandoah.
And the food places.
Alfie wasn’t great in the kitchen, so he knew the best spots in the city. Rarely fine dining, more like hole-in-the-wall pizza places with good steaks, the best donut locations, fried chicken, and an abundance of hoagies.
He also put together the best picnics and snacks for road trips. He’d raid a deli and a bakery, and we were off.
I took another drag from the smoke and rubbed at the tightness in my chest.
What the fuck was I doing?
Alfie O’Dwyer.
No longer Scott.
O’Dwyer.
If I ordered another drink, Lance was going to think I had an alcohol problem.
This restaurant setting was way too romantic for a first date. I had major regrets about picking it. In my defense, I hadn’t known. I’d looked at the reviews and the menu. No pictures.
I smiled politely and cut another piece of my steak.
Good food, shitty company—and that was my fault. Lance was perfectly lovely. An up-and-comer in marketing for an agency that had offices all over the East Coast. He was born and raised in Manayunk.
Alfie and I had looked at houses there before we’d found the place I lived in alone now. I liked Ardmore, but in retrospect, I should’ve listened to him when he’d claimed we’d picked the quietest part. The most boring part. Ardmore did have a good nightlife scene these days, albeit small, but—
Alfie O’Dwyer.
I cleared my throat and reached for my glass. The wine was almost gone. I wanted whiskey or vodka or rum.
“…and then I went up to my boss, gave him a piece of my mind, and I was promptly fired,” Lance laughed.
I chuckled, wanting to shoot myself in the face.
This was such a farce. Lit candles, romantic music, and happy couples all over.
And me.
“I’m so glad my new job is better,” he finished.
Riveting.
Why on earth had I agreed to this?
He wasn’t my type. He was too…plain. I’d forget his face the minute I left.
He was the same age as Alfie, but he carried himself differently. Like he was older and trying to come off as more experienced.
Alfie, Alfie, Alfie—for fuck’s sake!
“Now I just have to find the time for a hobby or two,” Lance said. “You play golf, right? I played when I was younger.”
I inclined my head and scanned the establishment subtly for the nearest waiter. “I do. It’s my meditation. Not that it doesn’t infuriate me from time to time.”
He grinned. “I remember that part. I’m a horrible putter. What’s your handicap?”
I squinted, trying to give a fuck. “Four.”
He let out a low whistle. “Damn. I won’t try to impress you, then. Before I quit, I think I was at, like, twenty.”
Twenty wasn’t exactly horrible.
This date, for instance, was much worse.
It made me feel guilty, because this guy had done nothing wrong whatsoever. He had social skills, a good balance between sharing things about himself and showing interest in me, no excessive flirting, he wasn’t too eager or too aloof, and he was… Fuck if I knew. I just had this feeling that he probably didn’t struggle to find partners.
But I wasn’t going to be one of them.
“You’re young—you’ll have plenty of time for hobbies,” I said, right as my phone dinged in my pocket. “Sorry. I thought I put it on silent.”
“It’s okay.” He smiled as I pulled out my phone, and the preview on the screen caused me to cough.
Still on your date? You fucked him yet?
A liquid, rage-filled heat pressed closer to the surface, and I managed to flag down a waiter as he was about to leave the table next to ours.
“Yes, sir?”
“A vodka soda, thank you,” I said, glancing at Lance. “Would you like anything else?”
“I’ll have a beer, thanks,” he said. “Whatever you recommend with the steak.”
“Comin’ right up.”
Mother of Christ, I didn’t know how to react. Truth be told, I wanted to scream or—
Another message popped up as I switched to silent mode.
Remember how hard you fucked me after our first date? In the alley?
I clenched my jaw and pocketed my phone again. My ears felt hot, and a low, rushing sound drowned out some of the background noise in the restaurant. For a dizzying moment, I stopped hearing soft laughter and glasses clinking, and instead, I was in Los Angeles. Behind a fucking dumpster, drilling my cock into Alfie’s tight ass. He’d met every goddamn thrust, and he’d begged me for more.