Total pages in book: 235
Estimated words: 224334 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 1122(@200wpm)___ 897(@250wpm)___ 748(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 224334 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 1122(@200wpm)___ 897(@250wpm)___ 748(@300wpm)
I wait a good five minutes for her to retaliate, but I get nothing. It doesn’t make me feel any better. But something will. I finally dial Ava.
“Hey,” she chimes, sounding cheerful.
I feel anything but. “God, I miss you.” This morning has been the longest morning ever. It doesn’t bode well for our future together.
“Where are you?”
“At The Manor,” I pretty much grumble, glancing around the empty changing rooms, Sarah’s wicked cackle still echoing in my ears. “Everything is under control. I’m not needed here.” Unless someone wants to rub me up the wrong way. “Do you need me?” I ask hopefully.
“Always,” she whispers, and I sense the smile in her tone. She likes that I’m missing her.
“Now?” I’ll watch her work. Take her to her appointments. Does she have any? And if so, with who?
“Jesse,” she breathes, bursting my bubble. “I’m at work.”
“I know.” I drop my head into my hands. “What are you doing at this precise moment?” I wince before she’s spoken, praying she’s in the office and not out for any fancy lunch meetings with fancy Danish men.
“I’m on my way to a client, and I’ve just got here,” she says. “So I’ll have to sign off.”
“Oh,” I grumble, wanting so badly to ask who her meeting is with, but not wanting to risk raising suspicion. “Okay.”
“I’ll stay at yours tonight.”
I frown into my palm. “I would hope so. You live there.”
She’s silent for a moment, and I fear she’s rolling her eyes to herself. “I’ll see you later.”
“You will,” I assert. “What time?” I need to know exactly how many hours I’ve got left to sustain his torture.
“Six-ish.”
I smile. “Ish,” I mimic. I hope there’s not too much . . . ish about it. “I love you, lady.”
“I know you do.” She hangs up, and I stare at the wall of shiny wooden lockers, chewing my bottom lip. My place? I thought the debate over our living arrangements had been agreed. Obviously, I was mistaken.
I need to fix that.
But first I need to sweat. I stand and start ripping my suit off, grumbling and grunting as I do, my mind constantly wandering to who Ava has her appointment with. Fuck me, I’m itching to call Freja and pick her brain, but I think I’ve just well and truly burned my bridges there. “Fuck it.” I stuff my feet into my trainers, pull on some shorts, grab a racket, and head to the courts to smack balls at thin air.
Then I’ll swim.
Then I’ll sweat in the sauna.
Then I might take my bike out for a few hours.
I shake my head to myself as I stalk through The Manor, thinking about what I used to do with my time pre-Ava. Sleep. Recover. Drink. Fuck.
Hide.
And repeat.
I get to the courts and flex my battered hand, trying to get a decent grip of the racket. The swelling has subsided, the purple fading to yellow, but I’m not exactly ready for Wimbledon. I switch my racket to my other hand and start to devise a plan that’ll make the most of Ava’s and my time together this evening. It involves constant contact. I’m aching for her, every moment away from her hurting me.
Dependency.
She’s a different kind of addiction. Not as unhealthy, though. Not for me. But for Ava?
I grunt as I smash the ball over the net and check the time. One more hour down.
I swim one hundred lengths of the pool.
Another hour down.
I go to the sauna and sweat, but the silence beats me after just ten minutes, and I have to abandon that idea.
I head for the changing room and get in the shower, plotting my next time-killing exercise. A nice ride in the countryside. Then I’ll go get Ava a key cut for my apartment. Then I’ll go to the supermarket and stock up on chocolate spread and squirty cream. Then I’ll go home. Get comfy on the couch and wait for the glorious moment she walks through the front door. When she gets home to me. My stomach turns at the prospect of enduring this every working day of the week. Weekends won’t be a problem, of course, because she’ll be attached to me.
I reach for a towel and rub at my face, turning toward the lockers. I find Sarah blocking my way. I’m never usually shy. I never usually feel exposed when naked in front of her. She’s seen me more naked than dressed over the years, always the first to storm my private suite in the morning to kick out any women who had fallen into my bed. And yet now, I feel extremely uncomfortable.
I hold the bunched towel over my groin and get a raised brow. I ignore it and step out. “Do you mind?” I ask, shuffling awkwardly around her.
She laughs. “Juliette will be here in an hour.”