Total pages in book: 204
Estimated words: 193115 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 966(@200wpm)___ 772(@250wpm)___ 644(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 193115 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 966(@200wpm)___ 772(@250wpm)___ 644(@300wpm)
“You’re a good boy, Jesse.” She gives my cheek an affectionate rub before taking a bottle of bleach and leaving the kitchen. “I’ll just finish the bathrooms.”
“So, what’s the plan?” Sam asks, clapping his hands together and rubbing. “Oh, and who was the visitor?”
“No one,” I answer.
“Freja Van Der Haus,” Drew pipes in, holding back a rare smile, motioning to my brooding form. “She’s in love with bighead over there.”
“Same day, different story,” Sam mutters, going to the fridge and opening the door. “Peanut butter? Is that all you’ve got to offer?”
For the first time, I notice both the boys have turned up empty-handed. I turn questioning eyes onto them. “You didn’t bring any beers?” I ask. They always bring beers.
Sam looks at Drew. Drew looks at Sam. What’s going on? “I’m driving,” Drew announces. “I said I’d be at The Manor later.”
“Yeah, and me.”
“Get a cab,” I suggest. They usually do.
Both my friends start shifting awkwardly, and the penny drops in my lagging brain. “You’re fucking kidding me,” I say, stalking past them and grabbing my keys. “I’m going to the shop to get you two dicks some fucking beers.” I can’t be pissed off with them. They’re friends. Good friends. “And I’ll drop you at The Manor later myself.”
“Why’s that?” Sam calls. I look over my shoulder, finding him smiling mildly.
“Because I’m not drinking,” I answer, disappearing around the corner to the door.
“And why’s that?” Drew yells.
I don’t bother answering them this time. I don’t need to. I’m a mug if I believe they’re not onto me. Maybe later I’ll open up to them. Talk. Get their thoughts.
I laugh. Only pussies discuss woman prob—
Wait . . .
Have I got woman problems?
14
It was good to spend time with the boys somewhere other than The Manor for once. Really good. We tucked into a takeout dinner, talked like women, and laughed. Their help in distracting me was more appreciated than they’ll ever know. Or perhaps they do know. Of course they know. But alcohol isn’t the only thing I’m trying to avoid. I’m also trying my fucking hardest not to call Ava. I wouldn’t want her to think I can’t let her breathe.
I could tell both Drew and Sam were itching to get their deprived arses to my place of pleasure after a few hours of humoring me in my new home, so I drove them over. I didn’t go inside. I dropped them off in the driveway and got my backside away from there before any more women came crawling out of the woodwork. I may have driven past Ava’s place on my way home. I may have stopped and looked up at the window where the light was on. I may have imagined her in bed. Was she in bed? What was she doing? Surely being cuddled up with me would have been better.
You cuddle now, Ward?
I drove back to Lusso with a moody face and fell into bed. And I stared at the photograph of the boats for an eternity, constantly wrestling with my mind’s demand to call her. Just call her. Or text her. Text her and tell her you’re thinking of her.
I fell asleep with the soft sound of her laugh haunting my dreams.
On Monday, I wake up in a foul mood. Yesterday was pure hell, spent kicking my heels around my new place, constantly fighting with my swaying mind. Call her. Don’t call her. Text her. Don’t text her. Honestly, it could have driven me to drink. If this is her playing hard to get, I fucking hate it. It’s stupid. And pointless. So today things change. She’s had enough breathing space. And since, apparently, I need her to keep myself breathing comfortably, I’ll be seeing her today, whether she likes it or not. I’d rather she likes it, of course.
After my morning run, I shower, change into my finest gray suit, and take myself to the bookstore I googled earlier. I pay, then take myself to the nice florist lady. I write a note, smiling the whole time, and give her specific instructions and an address. I leave feeling rather pleased with myself. See? A gentleman. Romantic. I can do that.
When I arrive at The Manor, I find John in the bar. He looks like he’s about to go on a slaughtering mission, his face cut with irritation. I’m almost afraid to ask. “All right?” I say lamely as I perch on a stool next to him.
“Fuck you, motherfucker.” He necks a water, turning to face me, and looks up and down my suit as I balk at him. Then he jerks his head in the general direction behind us. I crane my neck and find Coral on one of the bench seats, her face squished into the plush material. “Sort it out,” he hisses. “Because I ain’t fucking here to deal with drunken love sick women.” He slams his glass down, and I flinch. “If you don’t revoke her membership, I will.”