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 made a mistake; I’m human. So kill me. Do you honestly think that ninety-nine percent of the male population hasn’t made a simple mistake before?”
“You put your dick inside another woman’s ass,” I spit angrily.
The people at the tables around us glance over, and I cringe. That came out a lot louder than it was meant to.
“Keep your voice down,” he whispers angrily. “Fine . . . you can have the house.” He shrugs as he thinks out loud. “I’ll sign it over, but I won’t agree to a divorce. I love you, and I won’t give up on us.”
“You’ll sign it over?” I frown, surprised.
“On the condition that we don’t divorce.”
“What?” I screw up my face. “That’s ridiculous.”
He shrugs.
“For how long?”
“Forever.”
“No, I want a set time.” I think of a counteroffer. “If we haven’t gotten back together in two years, then we get a divorce.”
“Eight years.”
“No way,” I scoff. “Three years.”
“Six.”
“Four.”
“Five.” He sits back, annoyed. “Final offer: I’ll sign the house over to you, but we don’t divorce for at least five years.”
I stare at him as the idea rolls around in my head.
I really want the house.
“Take it or leave it, Rebecca.”
Five years . . . is a long time.
Not that it matters, I guess. I have no intention of ever marrying again.
“Why do you want such a long time?” I ask him.
“Because I can’t lose you, Rebecca, and I need you to forgive me. We need time to heal. I can’t imagine a life without you in it.”
“But you could very easily imagine yourself in a bed without me in it . . . couldn’t you?”
“I made a mistake,” he says softly. “How long are you going to throw that in my face?”
“Forever.”
“Five years.”
“I need to get some advice from my lawyer.”
“I’ll send you a schedule of the repayments and monthly costs. I’m telling you that you can’t afford it. You don’t need to do it alone; you have me.”
I never had you.
“I’ll be the judge of what I can afford.” Annoyed, I stand to cut our meeting short. “Send me the details, and I’ll let you know.”
“I love you.” He smiles hopefully up at me.
My heart sinks. I hate that he still says it to me every time we speak. I hate that the man I thought was my soulmate is nothing more than a huge disappointment.
I hate that I’m single and lonely, and damn it, I . . . I hate that he ruined the perfect life I had.
“Goodbye, John.” I walk out of the restaurant and push out through the heavy glass doors into the cool air.
I put my sunglasses on and look up the street toward my car. Well, that was a disaster . . .
Five years . . . fuck.
I stare at the computer screen and screw up my face. “What?”
John’s financial estimate email has come through, and I’m spending the afternoon going through the expenses.
“Surely this can’t be right?”
I bring up the calculator on my phone and begin to add up the yearly figures.
Loan repayment.
Maintenance.
Property tax.
Utilities.
Insurance.
I add them all together and then divide them by twelve. “This should be the monthly amount of costs.” I hit enter on the calculator.
$3,312.00
My eyes widen in horror. “Three thousand three hundred and twelve dollars?” I gasp. “Per month?”
Shit. I quickly divide that by four.
$828.00
“What the hell . . . a week?”
I slump back into my chair. “That’s going to be all my income, and I didn’t even pay for food or gas and car costs yet.”
Damn it.
I see John’s smug face when he told me that I wouldn’t be able to afford to keep the house.
He was right . . .
That selfish bastard infuriates me. He thinks that I’m going to go back to him because I have no other choice.
I slam my computer shut and stare at the wall.
What the hell do I do now?
Blake
I pull my front door closed and walk across the lawn to Rebecca’s. It’s just 7:00 p.m. I have a bottle of wine under my arm, and I’ve been looking forward to this lasagna all day.
Nobody can cook like Rebecca can. Best damn chef in the United States, if you ask me.
I walk up the stairs onto her porch.
Knock, knock.
I wait . . .
What’s happening in there? I peer through the window; she’s probably slaving away in the kitchen for me. I smile and knock again.
Knock, knock.
This is the perfect way to end my weekend: dinner with my favorite girl.
The door opens in a rush, and my eyes drop down to Rebecca’s feet and rise back up to her face. She’s wearing odd flannelette pajamas: canary yellow pants with huge red lips all over them and a pink top. Her hair is in a messy bun on the top of her head, and her face is covered in a green face mask. “I love it when you dress up for me,” I mutter.