Total pages in book: 126
Estimated words: 117408 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 587(@200wpm)___ 470(@250wpm)___ 391(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 117408 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 587(@200wpm)___ 470(@250wpm)___ 391(@300wpm)
“Oh,” I said, nodding, surprised. “How long have you guys been together?”
“Four years now. We started dating around the same time I was graduating from the police academy. Met her at a bookstore.”
“That sounds pretty romantic,” I offered, sensing some kind of tension rise when Jonah talked about his girlfriend.
“It was. I guess.” Another drink. His eyes drifted from the street and back to me. There was a storm in them that rocked with lightning, and I wanted to walk right into the center of it. “Our relationship’s been a little rocky… and it’s getting rockier if I’m being honest with you. I don’t know what’s causing it, or why now. I don’t know if I’m doing something or if she is… Both of us are, probably. She’s my first girlfriend, so I’ve really got zero experience, and I feel like I somehow messed up at some point along the road.”
“I don’t believe that,” I said. Jonah dug a spoon into the bowl of fresh fruit and ice cream we had ordered for the two of us while I spoke. “I’m not saying I know everything about relationships, but I know that when they aren’t working, it’s usually because of both parties involved, so don’t pin it all on yourself. I definitely don’t know anything about dating women, but I highly doubt you’re doing something wrong. Have you guys considered some kind of counseling?”
Jonah looked at me, his eyes scanning my face. He didn’t answer.
“Huh?” he asked, seeming to come to from whatever he was thinking. “Oh, counseling? No, no. I don’t… no.”
“You don’t what?”
“Nothing, nothing.” Jonah speared a pineapple and put it in his mouth, some of the vanilla ice cream dripping down his lip before he wiped it away.
“Didn’t sound like nothing…” I was like a dog with a favorite chew toy, and I wasn’t going to let it go.
Jonah must have figured. “I was going to say, ‘I don’t think it’s salvageable.’ But I’ve never really faced that fact before, so…” He sighed. “Shit.”
“That bad?”
“The spark is gone. Totally dead. It’s not like we fight—we don’t even care enough to fight. It sucks. It really, really does.”
Damn, Jonah really did seem like he was in a bad spot. I could see the stress from this weigh down his shoulders, almost like a physical force.
“And we’ve been together four years now. She’s pretty much all I know. I can’t imagine what my life would be like without her.”
Better?
I bit my tongue. Now was not the time.
“Maybe you don’t have to imagine it. Maybe it can be fixed.” I tried staying on the positive side. It was a survival mechanism I had developed during my deployment. Always think of the positive, even if mortar shells and hellfire are raining down on you from the heavens. Think of the positive and, somehow, you always keep moving. As soon as you focus on the negative, you trip and stumble and you die.
“Maybe,” Jonah said. “Speaking of the disattached devil.” His phone started to ring, the tone breaking through the music that was playing from the overhead speakers. He pulled his phone out and put it on the table, the name Wendy Powell on the screen.
“You want to answer?”
“No,” he said, silencing the call so it stopped ringing. “That’s rude.” He smirked at me and put the phone back in his pocket. “How about you? What’s your dating life consist of, Mr. Smooth and Smoldering Detective?”
I matched his smile. Part of me wondered if he’d catch shit for ignoring her call; another part of me couldn’t give two royal fucks as long as it meant more time with Jonah. “Smooth and smoldering, huh?”
Jonah laughed, his cheeks getting rosy. “I’ve been reading a lot of romances lately.”
“Oh my God.” I was shaking my head. “And you read romance novels? Jesus, Jonah. You’re a catch on anyone’s Kinsey scale! Wendy better wake the fuck up, because you’re almost sounding a little too good to be true.”
By then, the alcohol was working its magic on us. I could see it in the after-hours glow on Jonah’s face, and I could feel it through the slight numbness at the tip of my fingers and toes.
The alcohol was also annihilating my filter, and that was dangerous.
“I got hooked when my little brother told me to check one out,” Jonah explained. “I’m a big reader, and I switch between romance and fantasy, depending on my mood. I read a ton when I was confined to the hospital bed.” For a flash of a moment the mood dampened as I envisioned Jonah hurt and helpless, but that mood was quickly pushed aside by the big smile on his face, reassuring me that it was all okay. “I know, I know. You’re probably thinking I’m the first baby you’ve ever met functioning at a high-school-reading level.”