Total pages in book: 112
Estimated words: 103754 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 519(@200wpm)___ 415(@250wpm)___ 346(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 103754 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 519(@200wpm)___ 415(@250wpm)___ 346(@300wpm)
“It felt . . .” Her eyes go to the ceiling as if the answer will be found there. When her eyes lower to me again, she replies, “Warm—”
There’s still heat between us, flowing too freely like there’s a chance to pick up where we left off. I glance up at the lit number for the floor we’re passing to tamp down the thought. “I don’t think it was working well that night?”
“I meant you, as in who you are as a person. It felt warm like you.”
Staring at her, I’m not sure what to say, my thoughts conflicting with her recollection. I was warm but apparently not worthy of her returning to me. I try to get out of my head. It’s pizza and hanging out, not an interrogation. At this rate, I’m not sure we’ll make it past a few slices before I say what I need to get off my chest. What am I supposed to do? Sit across from her, this woman who broke my heart in two, and pretend we don’t have a mountain’s worth of baggage between us? Impossible.
The elevator stops, and when the doors open, I follow her. She only walks a few feet before looking back at me. “Which apartment?”
“Last door on the left.”
I study the back of her while we walk down the corridor. The change in her hair is obvious, which was the first thing I noticed outside the pub. I like it, but I’m not sure it fits her. The coat is cinched at the waist, highlighting her slimmer body and reaching her face. Her features are more refined, and even though it’s Manhattan, I think it’s all natural.
Trailing my gaze to the heels that give her some solid height, I’m reminded of the combat boots she once wore. I wonder if she still chooses her footwear to please herself, or if she buys it to please everyone else. I really hope it’s because she loves them and they’re not for that asshole Gregory.
Fuck him.
I wish I had said more, done more. Though almost kissing Sosie in that hallway wasn’t because of Gregory. Should I have gotten close to his fiancée, ex-fiancée? Probably not. But if I know one thing about myself, it’s that Sosie Stansbury is my Achilles’ heel. And apparently always will be. The hurt I felt hasn’t been washed away, but I sure as shit forget how she made me feel at one time, which isn’t helpful.
I would have thought things had changed. They haven’t, not in the way I would have predicted. The chemistry between us hasn’t tempered. It’s only magnified. So I’m positive that if the pain I endured before didn’t fuck up the attraction, I’m stuck dealing with it for life. It’s incredible how one unplanned night has led to . . . Oh shit. Are we repeating history?
I open the door and walk into the dark apartment first so she doesn’t run into anything. I flip on the hall light and glance back as I hang my coat on a hook. “Old habits die hard.” When she doesn’t react, I add, “Keeps the bills down.” I flick on another light in the living room, nothing bright or harsh, giving our eyes time to adjust. This one is positioned to spotlight a painting I bought last year.
After closing the door, her eyes flick to me and beyond. “It’s not what I expected.”
“No?” I set the pizza box on the kitchen counter.
She hangs her coat on a hook next to mine and makes her way into the living room, looking around. “I was still imagining you in the old place with a blue rug and green loveseat.” Dragging her fingers along the back of the leather couch, she walks to the windows anchoring the other side of the apartment.
I try not to stare, but it’s hard to take my eyes off her, my emotions suspended in disbelief and feeling raw. I’m not even sure how we ended up this way, here in my apartment, like this is normal. Nothing about this is typical for me. I can only imagine she feels the same since she’s caught in this whirlwind with me. I busy myself by getting plates and paper towels and stacking them on the box.
Sosie looks out one window, then strolls to the other as if the view will be different. With her back to me, she says, “I went to your other apartment.”
“Why?” I carry the box into the living room and set it on the coffee table. Sitting down, I try to remember a time when she might have stopped by. My neighbors were nosy as fuck and would have told me. “I had probably already moved unless it was—”
“A woman answered. Pretty, around our age.” She turns around, and it might be the first time I’ve seen hurt shape her expression. Her smile can’t fight the internal dialogue playing out in her eyes. “I thought she was your . . .” Her posture stiffens like an offense was taken before she exhales a heavy breath that drags down her shoulders. “I thought she had moved in with you.”