Total pages in book: 66
Estimated words: 62102 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 311(@200wpm)___ 248(@250wpm)___ 207(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 62102 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 311(@200wpm)___ 248(@250wpm)___ 207(@300wpm)
I suddenly realize that I never asked my sister what advice she gave the men when they asked about winning me back. It looks like gifts might have been mentioned.
I decide that I’ll text them, but I’m not sure what to say about the deliveries. Meanwhile, the pizza smells good despite the pepperoni, so I pull out a slice and take a bite while I consider my options.
The door rings again, and I shake my head in disbelief. There are two deliveries this time, a large sturdy envelope, and a box from a department store in Whitman. The box reveals a beautiful green blouse with a note from Darian about how he saw it and thought of my eyes. The envelope contains a hand-drawn sketch signed by Troy of a woman who looks remarkably similar to me, surrounded by four faceless men whose body language and positioning reflects their adoration for the woman.
I’m incredibly touched, and pained at the same time.
Abandoning the pizza, I pour a glass of wine and pace around my house, thinking. I asked the men for time, and they’re sending gifts. Maybe they’re impatient, and they’ve decided I’ve had enough time. I should have had the strength to end things when I talked with them. I don’t want to hurt them, but I don’t want to lead them on.
Unable to settle on an approach, I simply text the four of them: “What’s going on?”
After the barrage of gifts, I’m surprised when no one responds for nearly forty minutes. Finally, I hear from Troy, who texts: “Did you see the backyard?”
The backyard? It’s dark now, so I flip on the back light and peer out with no clue as to what I’m looking for. The patio looks as it should. There are no boxes piled at the door. I don’t see anything on the grass. Then my eye reaches the bushes along the back wall. The four of them there, which had definitely been normal roundish-shapes yesterday, are now trimmed into leafy hearts.
It’s sweet and very romantic … and I need to put a stop to it.
“Can we get together? To talk.” I press send and take another drink of wine. I have to face this head on, even though it’s going to hurt. The thing is, I don’t know if I’m more worried about hurting myself or them.
“We’re at the club working tonight, but we’ll be done by eleven,” Troy responds. “Is that too late?”
It is late, but I don’t want to delay this discussion. I don’t want them to keep sending gifts, and I don’t want them to have hope for a hopeless situation.
44
Dante
“She wants to meet us at the beach walk?” I ask Troy. He didn’t speak to her, and I read their entire text conversation, but I’m still looking to him for insight.
“At least she wants to meet us,” Leo says. “The gifts worked quicker than I thought they would.”
“It’s not a good sign that she didn’t invite us to her house,” Darian says. He usually has a positive outlook, but his tone is not encouraging.
“It doesn’t matter.” Leo’s positivity is unflagging.
The four of us have showered and are getting back into our street clothes in record time. We cut our after-show meet and greet time short, and I hope no one noticed.
“Meet you there?” Leo says once we’re out in the lot.
I nod, and Darian and I head for my car.
“Why do you think she doesn’t want us at her place?” I ask as I pull out of Club Red’s lot.
Darian’s looking out of his side window, and his reflection in the glass looks glum. “Could be several reasons. Much less chance of ending up in her bedroom if we’re meeting at the beach.”
I nod. I’m not expecting to fall back into bed with her, though I miss her body so much it’s painful. I just want her to give us a chance. I want her to date us, and to realize how good we are together. How what there is between us is more than just sex.
We’re meeting her in the parking lot of a seafood restaurant, which has closed for the night. There are still a few cars on the side of the building, probably staff who are cleaning up for the night, and then I see Lorraine’s car at the far corner of the lot near the trail entrance. Leo’s already heading toward her, and the two of us park on either side of her car.
“Thanks for coming,” she says when she gets out of her vehicle and closes the door behind her. As if we need thanks. As if we wouldn’t drive across the country if she asked us to.
There’s a cool breeze blowing, and when I see Lorraine pull up the collar on her thin jacket, I ache to put my arms around her.