Total pages in book: 132
Estimated words: 133224 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 666(@200wpm)___ 533(@250wpm)___ 444(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 133224 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 666(@200wpm)___ 533(@250wpm)___ 444(@300wpm)
I pant as I go over the dream—or was it a nightmare?
I know that voice. I’d know it anywhere.
Blake.
I sit on the back steps as the sun comes up. Barry is out doing his morning potty, but I haven’t slept a wink.
Spending the entire night having sexually explicit dreams of your platonic friend will do that to you. I was living in a nightmare . . . a very hot one, at that.
This is . . . bad. Bad, bad, bad.
“Hey.” I hear Blake coming down the side through the gate. “You ready for a walk?”
“Oh,” he says in surprise as he sees me sitting on the steps. “You’re up early.”
“Yep.” I force a smile. Not going to tell you why, though.
“Actually, this is good timing,” he says.
“It is?” I frown. Oh no . . . he knows.
He sits down beside me on the steps. “I’ve been thinking about what you said.”
“You have?”
Oh no . . . what did I say?
“You’re right. I can’t keep going on as I am. It’s time for a change. I’m tired of playing the field, and I think I am ready to settle down.”
Where’s he going with this?
“You are?” I frown. That’s not what I was expecting to come out of his mouth.
“Yes. So I’ve been thinking. Don’t get me a date for Saturday night.”
“Why not?”
“I know who I’m going to ask out.”
“You do?”
“I’ve liked her for a long time, and I could never ask her out, but it’s time to just . . . do it.”
“Oh . . .” I think for a moment. “Do I know her?”
“No. Her name is Kayla. She’s a nurse I used to work with. I’ve had a crush on her for years.”
Chapter 13
I sit at the table and wait, and as always, he’s going to be late.
This is John.
I’m over his power plays. I’m over the way he does things, and more than anything, I’m over this marriage.
I sip my coffee as I go over my options. I know I have to do this, and even though I don’t want to, I know it’s for the right reasons.
If this Foot Finder thing has taught me anything, it’s that I can look after the house by myself, even if I don’t sell pictures every day or even every week. When I do have something go well, I just need to bank it for a rainy day.
He was wrong. I can do this alone.
So today I’m making a deal with the devil, literally.
I’m going to agree to not divorce John for five years. Of course, I’m going to try and get it down to three years, but regardless of the terms and situation, I need him to sign the house over to me.
The café doors open, and John walks in like the rock star that he thinks he is. He smiles and waves and makes his way over to me. “Hello, my beautiful wife,” he sings.
I look at his lying face and arrogant persona and wonder what I ever saw in this man. In fact, I want to vomit in my own mouth. He makes me sick.
He sits back, all powerful-like. “You wanted to see me.”
No, I didn’t. I want my house, fucker, and you’re going to give it to me.
“I’ve been thinking about your offer of signing the house over to me,” I say.
“I thought you may have.”
“And . . .” I can’t believe I’m about to say this. “I’m willing to agree to no divorce in exchange for you signing the house fully into my name.”
He smiles and takes my hand over the table. “This is for the best, babe.”
I’m not your babe.
I want to rip my hand from his grip. I want to throw my drink in his face. I want to turn the table over and scream to the demons from hell to come and drag him back down.
But I won’t. Why? Because just like him, maybe I’ve turned into the darker version of myself, and I’ll do anything that I can to get that house in my name, even be nice to this prick.
“Okay, so let’s get this straight. I say you will sign the house over to me if I agree not to divorce you for three years.”
“Five years.”
“Five years is too long, John.”
“That’s the deal. Do you want the house or not?”
My eyes hold his, and damn it, how did I ever love this monster? “I do.”
“Great. I’ll get the paperwork signed and the house over to you.”
“Thank you.”
He squeezes my hand in his. “We’re going to get through this, baby.”
“How long do you think the contract will take to do?” I ask.
“I’ve already had a lawyer working on it, so it won’t be long. A week, tops.”
Ugh . . . he knew I was going to sign it.
Keep calm.
“Okay, that’s great.” I contemplate saying the next thing because it goes against everything I agree with, but it is true. “Thank you, John. I appreciate it.” He doesn’t have to sign the house over to me, but I know that deep down, he knows I could never afford to buy him out and that this is the right thing to do.