Total pages in book: 123
Estimated words: 115833 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 579(@200wpm)___ 463(@250wpm)___ 386(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 115833 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 579(@200wpm)___ 463(@250wpm)___ 386(@300wpm)
“Girl, shut up! I’m here for you no matter what.”
I could hardly see her, because my vision grew blurry. I blinked the tears away. “I know,” I murmured. “Thank you, Tish.”
“You know it, girl.”
As she prepared her food, I shuffled through mine with a fork, my appetite waning. I was relieved when she started talking about diamond cuts and silver or gold bands for her engagement ring. I didn’t want to talk about myself or Lew. It’d only depress me further. Plus, I was genuinely happy for Tish. She’d always wanted to get married.
When her phone rang, I was even more relieved, because it was Lorenzo calling, which created more of a distraction for her. She was worried about me, I could tell, but I didn’t want her to be. I was fine.
Tish went to the deck, and I took a few bites of food, guzzled down the rest of my wine, then went to the kitchen for my phone. I read Deke’s email again, then surfed through our previous emails.
They were bordering on flirtatious. I wasn’t sure I liked it. It wasn’t that I didn’t want to talk to Deke . . . I just didn’t want to send him the wrong signal.
But I admit it was comforting getting his emails. It felt good to chat with someone so late at night who wasn’t insisting that I get some rest. That’s all my sister and Tish did.
You need your rest, Davina!
Try to sleep, Vina!
It seemed neither Deke nor I could sleep at night—like we both had a lot on our minds after the clock struck twelve.
I scrolled back down and sent him a response.
Hey! Definitely hanging in there. Went back to work today actually. Tish thinks I’ve lost my mind and you probably will too. But I need work, you know? Don’t want to spiral too much and keeping busy helps. Thoughtful of you to check in. But why do you keep checking on me?
I waited for his response as I poured another glass of wine and carried it with me to the couch. Just like before, my heart sped up a notch when my phone chimed again and another email from him popped up.
Nothing wrong with working. Everyone copes differently. Can’t say I blame you for wanting to busy yourself. And about me checking in. You want the truth?
I couldn’t help smiling at his question.
I always want the truth, I returned.
Well the truth is that unlike 99% of the people I know, I actually like talking to you. You’re mad cool, D.
Okay. I was smiling again. How was he so good at that?
Are you only saying that because you feel sorry for me right now?
No. I’m keeping it . Congrats on making it into my 1%.
I bit back a grin, then shook my head as a hopeless sigh escaped me. I had a feeling he was going to do that—make me feel special, singled out, important.
And though any woman in the world would’ve been thrilled about a famous athlete flirting with her by email, I just couldn’t be that woman right now.
Thanks for including me. I’m honored.
I stopped typing, hovering over the Send button.
No. That couldn’t be all. I did the dry-and-short thing last time.
Deke was a good guy. I needed to be honest with him now before it was too late, so I continued my email:
But I feel like I should let you know I’m a mess and am still grieving my husband. I don’t want to lead you on or anything. I’d love to keep talking to you and we can keep checking in with each other but can it be as friends? Just friends?
I bit into my bottom lip and pressed Send. Had to rip it off like a Band-Aid. If I didn’t do it now, I never would.
Two hours passed. I cleaned up with Tish before she left, and there was still no response from Deke. I changed into pajamas and mentally debated about whether it was the right thing to tell him. That email was a little rude . . . but it was true, and I didn’t know how else to explain it.
Around eleven o’clock that night, there was still no response.
I sulked on the couch, stealing glances at my phone as the TV played an episode of Martin. Maybe I was too harsh. Octavia always said I was too direct with text messages. She’d say if she didn’t know me personally, she would never be able to tell if I was joking via text.
I picked up my phone and read my email again.
I cringed.
I mean, who italicized the words just friends? That took effort and placed way too much emphasis on the matter. I groaned, knowing damn well I wasn’t going to hear from him again. I wouldn’t blame him.
Toward midnight, I crawled into bed. I sank beneath the comforter, nestled my head into the pillow, and forced my eyes shut.