Total pages in book: 59
Estimated words: 58600 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 293(@200wpm)___ 234(@250wpm)___ 195(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 58600 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 293(@200wpm)___ 234(@250wpm)___ 195(@300wpm)
Tori: Are you sure you want to come? A lot of people find poetry slams lame and cringy. Obviously, I’m not one of them, but I know that the stigma is out there.
Alex: I’m positive. First, because I want to see you showcase your talent, and second, because I’m your Valentine’s guardian angel, remember? I don’t want you to go alone.
Tori: I’m not going to be alone now. Mom is coming with me.
Alex: That’s great! I’m glad you two have reconciled.
Tori: I wouldn’t go that far, but we’re trying. My performance tonight… let’s just say I find my greatest inspiration from my real life. Usually, this means talking about my dad, my hopes for the future, or even funny stories from the bar.
Alex: What about your dad?
I swallow. Here we go again, a voyage into the not-even-a-little-bit-casual.
Tori: He and Mom were in the middle of a nasty divorce when he got cancer and died shortly after. I guess you could say it left an impression on me.
Alex: Of course. That’s awful. I’m sorry, Tori.
I swallow.
Tori: Listen, this is going to sound nuts, but can you send me a photo of your nephew to prove he’s real?
I stare at the message and then delete it. I feel like a crazy person.
“Ride’s here,” Mom says.
Tori: You can come. I’ll send you the address. But please don’t expect fireworks.
Alex: All I expect is to see you doing something you love, beautiful. That’s more than enough for me.
Despite my better judgment, I smile as warmth floods my body.
CHAPTER 18
ALEX
The venue has a hipster vibe, records on the walls, and prints of punk bands. The drinks are served in jars and the music which pounds from the speakers has a punky lilt to it. I grab a beer and look around the loft-style room across the sea of heads, looking for Tori.
I’m just glad she let me come. I tried my best to focus at the archery range with Elliot, but I couldn’t stop thinking about Damien and his tatted goons. What if they returned? What if they hurt her?
“Alex?”
I turn at the sound of her voice. It cuts right through the music, tugging at my heart… and other parts of me, too. But tonight isn’t about that.
When I face her, it’s difficult to remember I’m supposed to be tame. She’s wearing denim overalls and a flowy top, giving her a poetic and bohemian look, the overalls hugging her figure. I’m caught between being impressed by how badass she looks and wanting to tear off the clothes to reveal the womanly curves beneath.
“Tori,” I say, smiling and leaning in for a kiss.
She hesitates momentarily, but when our lips touch, I feel her melt against me. She wraps her arms around me. I moan, can’t help it, and squeeze her close. When my manhood twitches, I force myself to push her away.
She looks up at me with red cheeks, flustered and gorgeous. “We should be good,” she yells over the music, her breath tickling my ear as she stands on her tiptoes and leans in. “My mom is here too. She’s in the bathroom. Do you mind sitting with her?”
“Not at all. It’s about time I met your parent.”
I nudge her playfully. Her old-soul eyes get this panicked look. Oh, yeah, we’re ‘keeping it casual,’ aren’t we? How could I forget?
She turns as her mom approaches, an elegant, kind-looking woman with her daughter’s nose and eyes. “Mom, this is Alex. Alex – Mom. Well, Monica.”
I offer her my hand. “Nice to meet you, ma’am.”
“Ma’am?” Monica laughs.
“I’ve always thought if I ever found a lady who could put up with me, I’d treat her mother with respect.”
Monica smiles, looking at her daughter. She points at me and then makes the okay sign. Tori’s cheeks grow even more beautifully red.
“I need to go backstage soon,” Tori says.
“Good luck.” Monica rubs her daughter’s arms.
I take her hands, squeezing them, looking at her meaningfully. “You’re going to do great.”
“Remember,” she yells. “It’s just poetry, okay?”
She brushes her hand along my arm before disappearing into the crowd.
“Shall we find some seats, Monica?”
When it’s time for the open mic to begin, the music is turned down, and the staff clear the dance floor and dot tables around the stage. People murmur quietly as they wait for the performances to begin.
“Are you excited?” Monica asks.
I nod. “Tori’s passionate about this. Well, maybe ‘passionate’ is an understatement. When she talked about her poetry, the night we met…”
“Valentine’s,” Monica says with a smile.
“Yes, Valentine’s, she lit up. It was as if she was hiding this precious, amazing part of herself, afraid people would think it was too strange or out there. I felt… privileged,” I continue, settling on the word, “to see it, to share that piece of her.”
“You really care about her,” Monica says.
“I do. I know we’re moving fast, and maybe she doesn’t want that. I’m trying to be normal, but it isn’t easy. I’ve wanted to find somebody for a long time. Until your daughter, I never thought I would.”