Total pages in book: 74
Estimated words: 71476 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 357(@200wpm)___ 286(@250wpm)___ 238(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 71476 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 357(@200wpm)___ 286(@250wpm)___ 238(@300wpm)
I love him.
35
Diesel
Two Months Later
I’ve seen it. I knew that it was real, but I never truly believed in it—not when it came to me. There was just too much water under the bridge. Too much had happened and even I might have once been open to it, I was about as closed off as a son of a bitch could get these days.
But, then… I never thought I would meet the likes of Rory. I’ve been looking since the moment I first met her for signs she’s not who she appears to be. Each day I know that I’m getting in deeper with her and even when I try to stop it… I can’t.
I unlock her door with the key she gave me and carry my usual doughnuts and coffee inside. I’m used to her being up and about and I really thought she would be this morning because she has to be at work in a couple of hours. I plan on driving her to work and then this evening when she gets off, Ryan and I are going to pick her up and go out to dinner together.
I’m seriously contemplating asking her to move in with me. The thought of it alternates between terrifying me and making me hungry for it. I think I can trust her, and I pretty much do, but…
I’m starting to think that there’s a part of me that will never be able to trust a woman—not completely. It doesn’t matter how good of a woman she is and that’s one thing I’m convinced of. Rory is unlike any woman I’ve ever met. Good doesn’t adequately describe her.
She’s smart, funny, sweet, tender…. Fuck, she’s so much I can’t put it into words.
“Gorgeous! Where are you?” I call, when I notice the kitchen is empty. I make my way to her bedroom, still carrying the food.
“I’m dying,” she moans from the bed. I stop in my tracks by the door and frown.
“What’s wrong?” I ask her, and I have to fight down the fear that I feel. It hits me hard and I wasn’t prepared. Don’t ask me why it’s hitting me like this.
I just know it has.
“Go home, Noah,” she whimpers. “I don’t want you to see me like this.”
“Like what?” I ask, but she’s not listening she’s staring at the food I’m holding like it’s the enemy.
“Oh, God,” she moans and then she takes off running to the bathroom.
I stare at the bag of doughnuts and the coffee for a minute and then I hear the sound of Rory gagging.
“Hell,” I mutter under my breath. I hastily put the items on her dresser and run to the bathroom behind her. I wet a cloth with cool water from the sink and then get down on my knees behind her at the toilet. I put the cloth to her forehead and pull her hair away from her face, while she wretches into the toilet.
“Please go,” she says, when she finally had emptied as much as she can. Her head is bent down and she’s staring into the toilet like she’s waiting for the next wave—and she probably is. “I don’t want you to see me like this,” she whispers.
I kiss the back of her head and ignore her.
“I’m not going anywhere, Gorgeous,” I tell her, making sure to keep the cloth against her skin, hoping the coolness of it will help.
“I think I’m done,” she says, grabbing the cloth, and covering her mouth.
“I’m just going to rinse my mouth. I’ll be out in a bit,” she says, half looking over her shoulder at me.
I frown. Something is going on with her. I didn’t get to see her the last two days, because Ryan has been home and Rory had to be at work early. She didn’t get home until late and by the time she did, Ryan was already in bed. I invited her over, but she said she was just too tired. I didn’t think a lot of it then, but now...
I take a minute to move the food into the kitchen and I find a container of ginger ale in the fridge and pour her a small glass. I’m just coming back into her room as she settles on the bed.
“Noah,” she says looking at me and her face is serious… too serious. “We need to talk.”
I take the ginger ale to her and she takes it with a barely-heard thank you. She doesn’t even look at me, instead she stares at the glass in her hand.
“You have to look at me to talk to me, Rory.”
“I’m afraid to,” she whispers and this time she’s staring at the wall.
Acid churns in my stomach and I struggle to catch my breath. Immediately my mind begins grasping for the reason this is happening and I imagine the million different things she could say—none of them good. I mentally prepare myself, knowing it’s not fair, but already positive that Rory is about to prove to me that I’ve been stupid for trusting her.