Total pages in book: 88
Estimated words: 82893 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 414(@200wpm)___ 332(@250wpm)___ 276(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 82893 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 414(@200wpm)___ 332(@250wpm)___ 276(@300wpm)
“Do people actually use those services?”
“Yes,” he grumbles, tugging my hand so I’ll follow him into a small shop where slushy machines line the wall behind the counter and plastic cups in all different shapes and sizes are stacked on shelves.
After ordering my drink in the same cup I saw the girl with, we walk until we stumble upon an outdoor area where a live DJ is playing, and people are dancing. Finding a seat on the outer edge of the makeshift dance floor, Roman pulls me down to sit on his lap, locking his hand around my hip as I sway to the music and sip my drink.
When one of my favorite songs from Hozier comes on, I sing along until the song gets to the chorus. The words about not even death being able to keep the artist from the person he loves feel a little different while sitting on Roman’s lap after everything we’ve experienced together. I turn to look at him over my shoulder when his fingers tighten around my hips, and something beyond words passes between us as he looks into my eyes. Dragging me back against his chest, he wraps his arms around me and presses his lips to the side of my head.
When the song ends, another one that is more upbeat starts to play, and I look around at the people dancing. My mom would have loved this and would’ve been in the crowd dancing, even if she looked out of place surrounded by people half her age.
She never let a moment of living life pass her up. I can’t even count the number of times she would just start dancing in the grocery store or in the kitchen if a song she liked came on. Getting to my feet, I turn and pull Roman up with me. I honestly expect him to scoff when I start to dance, but as the music blasts through the speakers, he pulls me close and moves to the beat with his body plastered against mine. Buzzed from the alcohol and high on the moment, I laugh and dance with him until my skin feels flushed and my feet start to hurt.
When the music changes to something a little slower, I look up at him with a smile on my face, feeling my rib cage tighten around my heart and lungs when I see him smiling back at me.
Even though hundreds of strangers surround us, it feels like it’s just us, and when he wraps his arms around me and moves his lips to my ear, whispering, “Happy”, my nose stings. It’s not a question; it’s a statement. He’s happy, and somehow, I’m able to give that to him. Wrapping my arms around him, I rest my head against his chest and sway with him as the music plays, people dance, and the stars over Vegas glitter in the dark sky above us.
Before I even open my eyes, I know I’m alone. It’s not that I don’t feel Roman pressed up against me, nor that I don’t hear the soothing tempo of his deep voice in the room as he talks on the phone, which he does a lot. It’s something else. It’s like the room around me just feels empty.
Blinking my eyes open, I lift my head off the pillow and shove my hair out of my face. Even with the curtains closed, enough light is still coming through to easily see around the room, and the amount of relief I feel when I see Roman’s bag still open on the luggage stand is startling.
Since he told me he was coming with me, I’ve never once thought about him just leaving me without saying something, so I don’t know where the fear of him taking off without a goodbye comes from.
Sitting up fully, I prop my back against the headboard, then reach over and grab my phone. It’s nine, so it’s early—or I consider it early, seeing as we were out until after three this morning. Glancing around, I see his sneakers missing from where he left them by the door, so he must have decided to go for a run when he got up this morning.
With no text from him letting me know where he went, I start to pull up his number to send him a message and ask if he’s okay but stop when my cell phone rings.
“Hi, Kandi,” I greet after sliding my finger across the screen and putting the call on speaker.
“Hey, Elora, do you have a few minutes to talk?”
“Sure, is everything okay?” I ask, looking toward the door when it opens. I watch Roman step inside, wearing only a pair of shorts but holding an iced coffee with the paper still covering the top of the straw. Kicking off his shoes, he walks toward me.