Total pages in book: 94
Estimated words: 89224 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 446(@200wpm)___ 357(@250wpm)___ 297(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 89224 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 446(@200wpm)___ 357(@250wpm)___ 297(@300wpm)
I know from conversations with Miranda that he’s not with Winter’s mom, but I don’t know why I assumed he didn’t date. I shouldn’t have. Even with as messed up as my head has been, I’ve still noticed he’s gorgeous, charming, and easy to talk to. The kind of man you gravitate to without even realizing you’re doing it.
We’re not exactly close friends, but we are more than acquaintances, so if I weren’t here to meet Eli, I would go over to say hi and introduce myself to who I’m guessing is his date. But not under the current circumstances.
Pulling my eyes off them, I head for a table that just opened up and slide into the booth, tucking my bag and coat in next to me.
With my leg bouncing, I wait for Eli and try to avoid looking over at Miles. I can’t seem to help myself, but neither can a few women around him—much to his date’s obvious dismay. Every time a woman speaks to him or finds a way to capture his attention, she presses a little closer to his side, making it clear he is there with her. Laughing to myself, because he looks oblivious to her claiming him, I take a sip of my wine and happen to glance over at the door the moment Eli steps through it.
I wait for the butterflies, or that familiar spark of excitement I used to get every time I saw him, but there is nothing but a blank space where those emotions once were.
Scanning the room, he spots me and lifts his hand before walking to the bar. As I wait for him to join me, warmth hits the side of my face, and when I turn my head, my eyes connect with Miles’s greenish-blue ones from across the room. I give him a small smile, and he lifts his chin in a silent, cool hello, then looks to the left and frowns. Wondering what caused that reaction, I look to my right and find Eli lumbering toward my table with a beer in hand.
“Hey.” Eli slides into the booth across from me, and anxiety tidal waves through my system, taking out all thoughts of Miles.
“Hey.” I wait for him to say more, with my fingers locked around the stem of my wine glass. “You wanted to talk?” I remind him when his attention goes to the TV above my head and the game playing.
“Yeah.” He focuses back on me. “We haven’t had a chance to connect.” I blink.
We haven’t had a chance to connect?
It’s not like I’ve been working out of the country without access to technology. Or like he doesn’t have my number or the ability to get ahold of me if he’s needed or wanted to.
“Okay.”
“Where is your head at?”
“Where is my head at?” I repeat.
“Yeah, where are you at with us getting back together and me moving home?”
“We’ve spoken twice by text, and I’ve seen you once since you moved out.”
“I know,” he says gently, holding my stare. “I wanted to give you space and time to think.”
Maybe none of this should be a surprise to me. Our relationship started because I pursued him. I’m the one who asked for his number and gave him mine the night we met. I’m the one who called him and asked him out on a date when he never called, and I’m the one who initiated our first kiss. I’m also the one who would talk about the future and where I saw us going. Still, I am pissed he assumed he could basically ignore me, and I’d get over what started this in the first place, accept whatever he is willing to give me, and just go back to how things were.
Fuck that.
“You did give me a lot of time to think,” I agree, and he nods, keeping hold of my gaze. “And I think if we are both honest, we know this isn’t going to work out.”
“What?” He sits up straight, like he’s actually surprised by my response. Which is surprising to me.
“I think it’s best that we go our separate ways.”
He stares at me, unblinking. “Are you being serious?”
I nod.
“You love me.”
“Yeah, and that sucks,” I whisper, “because loving you has gotten me nowhere and nothing in return.”
“What does that mean?” he asks, anger seeping into his tone.
“Why do you want to be with me?” I ask instead of explaining, and his brows drag together.
“I love you.”
“Do you?”
“Of course I do.”
“Why?”
“What?” His frown deepens.
“Why do you love me?”
I can clearly imagine the wheels in his head spinning as I wait… and wait, and wait, hoping he will give me something, something to make me believe I didn’t just spend almost three years of my life with someone who was only with me because I made it easy. Because I stepped into the role of wife and maybe even mother, doing the shopping, the laundry, and the cleaning without asking for more. Without demanding more.