Total pages in book: 46
Estimated words: 44725 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 224(@200wpm)___ 179(@250wpm)___ 149(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 44725 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 224(@200wpm)___ 179(@250wpm)___ 149(@300wpm)
I’m sitting in the park between classes. Natasha doesn’t share the next class with me, so I’m alone, munching on a sandwich as I try stubbornly to remain in the moment, attempting to tame the nerves that shiver within despite how incredible this past almost-week has been.
A dedication to Dad, I reply, remembering. You always dedicate your books “For Luke, my brother.” Is this a test? Did I pass?
This is another benefit of texting. He can’t see my foot tapping relentlessly, can’t read the uncertainty that must paint every feature of my face. I tried to get Natasha to tell me her theory, but she only gave me a knowing look, her eyebrow raised.
You pass every one of my tests, Zoey, but this wasn’t one. I just wanted to remind you.
Of Dad?
Of my dedication. My latest book is being printed today, NOT the one I’m working on now, obviously. The one I finished almost a year ago. That’s the publishing game for you, my beautiful wife-to-be. It’s painfully slow.
You know you’re being very mysterious, don’t you?
I’ve got to keep you on your toes.
I smile brightly, remembering the previous times I was in this park when everything was still so volatile, back when there was every chance our relationship could explode before we could even call it a relationship.
Well, I’ll do my best to focus during my next class, but all I’m going to think about is my mysterious boyfriend and his enigmatic texts.
I love you can call me your boyfriend now, and we don’t have to worry about secrets or anything bad happening. I love we can be together without having to stress.
Me too, I reply. I love it so much.
Love, love, love.
That word is becoming my worst and favorite, triggering anticipation as I wonder if he’s ever going to say it or if I should just put myself out there, ignoring the possible consequences.
When it’s time for my next class, I do my best to concentrate, but the quotes the lecturer reads aloud might as well be quotes about us, me and my man, my husband-to-be. Class ends, and I rush from the auditorium, checking my phone too eagerly.
I’m waiting out front, his text reads.
I’m on my way.
I rush through the halls, my heartbeat picking up speed. It’s not just Jax’s mystery-man routine. I always feel this way when it’s time to see him again, no matter how much time has passed, even if it’s just him returning from the bathroom at night. I’ll cuddle into his arms, lay my cheek against his chest, and listen to his powerful heartbeat.
As soon as I get there, Jax loops his arms around me, pulling me close.
“How perfect is this?” he whispers, gently kissing my cheek. “Being able to hold each other in public. Not having to worry about anyone or anything. Old high-school bullies, crazy exes, your mom, the guilt… All of it is meaningless now.”
He kisses me again, just as softly. He often does that whenever he does a public display of affection—holds himself back and handles me cautiously, as if he’s afraid the other half of his nature will dominate his behavior. He’ll become the animal he is in bed sometimes, claiming me as though he’s starving, and I’m the only person who can give him sustenance.
“Are you ready?” he asks.
Ready for what? But that’s a silly question. With Jax, I can face anything.
He opens the car door for me, smiling in a carefree way that seems entirely new for him. He wasn’t grim before, but this lightness and relaxed energy never existed. Except when he narrows his eyes, I’m sure something’s up, just for a second. I climb into the car, brushing my hand along his stomach. His abs are tense beneath the fabric of his shirt.
“You look sharp,” I tell him when he climbs into the driver’s side.
He’s wearing a shirt buttoned almost all the way up, stylish pants, and shoes. I’ll never tire of studying his muscles pushing through his clothes, the outline of his power.
“You look beautiful,” he tells me.
I roll my eyes, gesturing at my outfit. “Yeah, I’m rocking the lazy student vibe.”
“You’re sexier in a hoodie and jeans than any other woman would be in lingerie. I mean that.”
“So, are you ready to tell me where we’re going?”
“To the printing press. I want to show you my new book.”
He says this with heavy significance. I’m not really disappointed, but I somehow expected more from how he was behaving. Am I going to be a downer about it? Hell to the no.
“Awesome! I can’t wait.”
He doesn’t say much as we drive through the city. Every so often, he glances at me, hidden meaning in his intense eyes.
“Soon, you’ll be able to hold your book in your hands.”
“Do you really think so?”
“I know you will,” he says firmly.