Total pages in book: 103
Estimated words: 100523 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 503(@200wpm)___ 402(@250wpm)___ 335(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 100523 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 503(@200wpm)___ 402(@250wpm)___ 335(@300wpm)
He offers a smile. “I’m happy to entertain you.”
Monroe takes a drink, then says, “Carter’s pretty entertaining too. Wait till you hear what he’s been up to. It’s book fodder for sure.”
From behind his glasses, Axel’s eyes widen with curiosity. “This I must hear.”
I groan, annoyed with Monroe for serving me up but mostly with myself for being fodder.
Axel sets his chin in his hand. “Tell me everything.”
It was inevitable that I’d tell Axel. And I don’t truly begrudge Monroe for stirring the pot. That’s what we do. So I give Axel a quick debriefing on the situation with Rachel—and the situation in my stupid heart.
When I’m done, Axel whistles, low and long, the sucks to be you kind. But there’s sympathy in his eyes too. He ought to understand my situation better than anyone. He’s been there in many ways. “I always thought you had a thing for her,” he says, with too much wisdom in his tone. I almost wish I didn’t have a thing for Rachel. It would be so much easier if sex was just sex. If I could just fuck her and move on.
“Just like I always thought you had a thing for Hazel,” I add.
There’s no teasing or ribbing when he says, “And you were right.”
But his happy ending with Hazel isn’t proof that I’ll have one. Our situation is different. Every romance is unique. Nothing is guaranteed, no matter how deeply you might long for another person.
Because now is the wrong time for romance for Rachel, and, likely, for me too. She’s still escaping her painful past. We just don’t have the timing on our side.
I know firsthand that when it comes to football, timing can be everything.
I’m learning now, it’s pretty much the only thing in romance.
“But this isn’t going to end the same way,” I say, then for good measure, I add, “It’s just not.”
And my stupid heart is going to be okay with that. Even though I know I’ll be drifting off later to pancake fantasies and other what ifs.
Which feels like the story of my relationship with Rachel.
35
MY UNREAL BOYFRIEND
Rachel
Well, this is going to be uncomfortable.
I mean, I know intrinsically that therapy is a little uncomfortable. But I don’t want to dig deep today. So I’m careful as I open the door, as I say hi, as I sit on the couch, arranging myself for longer than I usually do. Purse here. Phone there. Legs crossed. Nope, uncrossed. Or maybe crossed after all.
It’s a Tuesday, and this is the first time I’ve seen Elena since I started sleeping with Carter. Nervously, I glance around her office, fixing my gaze on that snow-covered cabin painting. What would it be like to be stuck in that cabin on a cold night, with a warm fire, and an honest man?
But that thought’s not helpful today.
I can’t think of that man while I’m with her.
I snap my gaze to Elena, pasting on a grin that I hope is believably content. That’s the goal of therapy, I think. Contentment. Peace. I’m not there yet though.
I rub my palms along my jeans. She waits for me expectantly, a calm smile on her wise face.
A smile that says she’s seen this fidgety behavior before. A smile that says, too, she can wait for me. Correction: she can outwait me.
I gulp. “So, how are you?”
Her smile brightens a bit. “I’m well. It’s been a good few weeks for me.”
I grab tight on the end of the rope she’s offering. “Oh? In what way?” I ask, hoping she’ll fill the time since I don’t want to.
Elena is not one of those cipher shrinks. Granted, I don’t know everything about her, but she’s told me enough that I feel like I know who she is. She has two grandchildren, she’s been in a committed relationship for twenty-five years, she likes to play pickleball, and she devours memoirs.
“My pickleball team won a tournament,” she offers.
Boom. “Congrats,” I say brightly. “Which one? What next? Did you get a pickle as a prize?”
She smiles pleasantly, then shakes her head. “Now, how about you?”
Well, somebody saw right through me.
I rub my hands along my jeans again while fishing for something to say. Something I want to say. “Things are better at work,” I begin, and yeah, that’ll do. I do want to chat about business. I dive right in and roll around in the shop conversation like it’s a vat of gold I’ve stumbled into. Look at all the pretty coins. “And then I went back and I saw Ava and I apologized,” I say after several minutes of work chatter.
Elena’s nod says she’s surprised but also impressed. “That does seem like growth, Rachel. I think it’s great that you decided on your own to do that. That you felt it was important to you.”