Total pages in book: 78
Estimated words: 77422 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 387(@200wpm)___ 310(@250wpm)___ 258(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 77422 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 387(@200wpm)___ 310(@250wpm)___ 258(@300wpm)
Smoothing my denim—not anywhere close to knee length—shorts down my legs, I stared ahead and waited for the waitress to get there.
Lucky for me, she didn’t take long.
But that was also because she was my best friend.
She looked at me sympathetically as she walked up, surreptitiously looking over her shoulder as she poured me a glass of water.
The bottom of the glass was filled about half way with lemon slices, and I smiled.
“Thank you,” I murmured softly.
She tucked her tray underneath her arm and stared down at me.
“Why are you here?” Desiree asked. “Do you just like torturing yourself?”
I looked at my glass.
Maybe I did.
Pain…it felt like my old friend.
I didn’t think I would know how to exist without it at this point.
“I’m hungry,” I told her softly. “And this is the only place open besides the Whataburger, and I just saw the away football team walk in there on my way down the road.”
She looked across the street and winced.
“Yeah,” she grumbled. “I saw that. I still would’ve waited in line over there rather than torturing myself over here.”
I snorted.
“Like you would know what torture is,” I said honestly. “Your husband is about as good as they come.”
And he was.
He was pretty much perfect.
I had yet to meet a man that was anywhere near as perfect as Able Jackson.
Then again, Able Jackson was a rare breed, indeed. A badass, hot, and a genuinely great guy.
He was also one of Dean’s good friends, and I hadn’t seen him as much as I used to since Dean and I had broken up.
Desiree had been the one to suffer for that, and I constantly felt bad about it.
I just couldn’t go over to her house like I used to, though, because he was always there.
Able Jackson was a firefighter with the Kilgore Fire Department, but he usually worked a different shift than Dean. They’d met while in passing during shift change, but they were now really good friends. When they weren’t at work, they were hanging out together at each other’s houses.
Able, Dean and Bowe, another KFD firefighter, had started flipping houses in their spare time. They continued to do it now in their time off.
“Earth to July,” Des snapped her fingers at me. “Your head is in the clouds.”
I stuck my tongue out at her.
“Shut up and get me my food, I’m starving,” I informed her.
She snorted and walked away, tossing another look in the direction of the firefighters at the back of the room before disappearing behind the door that led to the kitchens.
I pulled out the paperback—yes, I said paperback—that I’d picked up at the gas station today while filling up my gas guzzling truck, and I crossed my feet on the bench seat across from me.
I was nearly a whole chapter in when the first firefighter passed me.
I swallowed and kept my eyes on the book, despite the fact that I wanted to look up and wave.
Tai tapped my table with his knuckles as he passed, and I lifted a hand but kept my eyes on the book I was reading.
They were used to this, though. I’d always done it, even when I’d been with Dean.
Bowe was the next firefighter to pass, and he did the same as the man before him.
I lifted my hand again, but froze when I heard a woman say, “Who the heck is that, and why are they messing with her?”
I couldn’t help it.
I looked up.
And sat stunned when I saw the woman practically hanging on Dean.
Dean’s eyes were on me, completely blank, as he waited at the counter to pay his bill.
“Old friend,” he muttered to the woman at his side.
I caught his eyes, and I couldn’t help the hurt I’m sure was shining in my eyes at hearing him refer to me as just an ‘old friend.’
I was about as far away from being just an ‘old friend’ of his as one could get.
I quickly looked away and went back to my book, trying hard not to let the tears that were clogging my throat slide out.
Chapter 2
I decided to put as much effort into contacting you as you put into contacting me—that’s why we don’t anymore.
-Dean to July
Dean
I knew those legs.
Knew that ass.
July was that woman that had hips that were a flawless example of the female form.
Her body was pear shaped.
She had hips that were wide and curvy, but fit.
They were what my mother liked to call ‘child birthing hips.’
And her tiny waist perfectly accentuated those hips.
Then there were her thighs.
They were thicker than what you saw on those skeleton-thin models in magazines, continuing the full line of her hips as they tapered down to her knees. The woman worked them effortlessly and unknowingly, never noticing the male heads she left turning in her wake.
Her breasts were small, surprisingly so considering her rounded bottom. Less than a handful, the barely filled my palm. Firm with small, pale pink nipples, they were what I considered to be perfect.