Total pages in book: 121
Estimated words: 116362 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 582(@200wpm)___ 465(@250wpm)___ 388(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 116362 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 582(@200wpm)___ 465(@250wpm)___ 388(@300wpm)
My mouth drops open. Is Heath seriously lecturing me about love?
“Don’t pretend I’m not right, dude,” Heath says, kicking at a stone. “We all get screwed over at some point in our lives. It’s part of the great circle. The circle of life. You remember The Lion King, right? Simba’s father dies, so he has to avenge his death by killing Scar, and he becomes so focused on that he nearly messes things up with Nala, the one true thing that will save him more than revenge ever will.”
He continues walking down the street and I can only blink at him for a moment before catching up. “Are you sure that’s how The Lion King went?”
“You know it was based on Hamlet, right?”
I’m surprised he knows that. “I still don’t think…”
“Anyway, Amanda might be your Nala, and that’s okay. But don’t throw it away because you hate Jeremy Irons.”
I shake my head, falling into step beside him. “I’m not throwing anything away.”
“You’re just stuck and don’t know how to take it to the next step. What you really need is to take her on a walk through the jungle, preferably while Elton John—”
“Will you stop with The Lion King analogies?”
“Fine. But you have to admit they’re helpful.”
I’m not too sure about that.
But I do have “Can You Feel the Love Tonight” in my head for the rest of the walk.
Thanks, Heath.
“It’s enough for this restless warrior,” Heath sings from the kitchen, “just to be with you.”
I groan and roll over. I thought the song had invaded my dreams.
I get up and stagger out of the bedroom. Heath is fully dressed and belting out the song into a half-empty glass of pineapple juice.
“Hey, you’re finally up,” he says, stopping his singing mid-lyric and finishing the juice. He pounds the empty glass on the counter. “I’m just about to jet off. There’s a good swell off Point No Point.”
I eye the microwave clock. It’s only eight a.m.
“All right,” I tell him, glad to be alone to get my head on straight.
“By the way, I fed Fluffy for you,” he says. “I love that little dude. The way he munches on those crickets is so cute.”
I raise my brows at him. “Well, one day that little dude might just be yours.”
“Awesome,” he says with a goofy grin, heading for the door. He pauses. “Oh, and remember to go get that little lion, pound her until she purrs, and tell her how you feel.”
“Right.”
He gives me the hang loose sign and heads out the door.
I sigh, going straight for the coffee maker. He made coffee and he fed Fluffy. Not a bad guy to have around sometimes.
After I have several cups of liquid gold on the patio, watching the seaplanes take off and the water taxies ferrying people from the taco stands and houseboats at Fisherman’s Wharf, I try and go over what to say to Amanda. I might not have to say anything at all. Or that’s just wishful thinking since I have no clue what I even want.
Do I want a relationship with her?
I’m not sure if I can open myself up like that again.
Do I want to just keep sleeping with her as is?
Of course. But the feelings are only going to get worse.
Stronger.
Deeper.
Wrapping around me like vines until there’s no hope of being cut loose.
What I do know is that she’s more than just a writing partner. She’s become everything to me. And the last time I had someone be my everything, I lost everything when she left me.
I head back inside, the heat already strong this morning, and put on The White Stripes to get Elton John out of my head. I pick up my phone from the charger on the wall, hoping Amanda has texted me.
An email displayed on my lock screen puts my heart in my throat.
It’s from Rachel.
Funny how life works like that. Like when you have a dream about some random person and then happen to see them the next day.
I breathe out slowly, trying to expel the tension in my chest, and sit on the bed, taking a moment before I open the email.
Here I go.
Bollocks.
There’s a lot to read.
I scan over it, blinking hard at what she’s written and going back over it again.
It’s not a friendly “hi, haven’t talked to you for a bit, how is life?” email.
It’s the “I made a huge mistake and I’m alone now and I realize I still love you and miss you more than ever, please come back, we can make this work” kind of email.
The love of my life, the love that ruined me, is admitting she was wrong, is asking for a second chance.
And now.
Now of all times.
Bloody fucking hell.
I drop the phone, my head swimming, trying to process it all, trying to think.
It's enough to make kings and vagabonds believe the very best.