Total pages in book: 91
Estimated words: 97574 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 488(@200wpm)___ 390(@250wpm)___ 325(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 97574 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 488(@200wpm)___ 390(@250wpm)___ 325(@300wpm)
Today, I need one.
I stop at the bar. Order a bourbon, neat. Take in the restaurant.
They're already here.
Ian, in a black suit and a fuchsia tie.
Eve, in a low-cut black dress and combat boots, teal hair in a neat line at her shoulders, makeup dark and dramatic.
They're sitting side by side, laughing over drinks.
Gin and tonics no doubt.
That's another reason he likes the restaurant. The Fever Tree selection. And his understanding with management.
They'll serve his girlfriend without asking for her ID.
Necessary, what with her being nineteen and drinking age being twenty-one in the States.
It's ridiculous—why can someone go to war before they can drink—but that's the US.
I pay the bartender. Turn toward them.
There's a half-wall separating us. They can see me, but they're not looking. They're too caught up in each other.
"She's going to be jealous." Ian runs his fingers along his girlfriend's chin. "You're intimidating."
"Uh-huh." She laughs.
"You underestimate yourself." He traces the tattoo on her right arm, the quote from The Handmaid's Tale.
He's obsessed with the thing.
It was all he knew about her for a long time. That she had teal hair and a quote from The Handmaid's Tale permanently marking her body.
He's obsessed with both.
"It's my intellect?" She leans into his touch.
He nods, curves his hand around her neck, pulls her into a sweet kiss.
It's pure affection.
I expect my eyes to roll. But I don't have a single hint of irritation in my body.
No, there's something else in my stomach.
Envy.
Not because I want her.
Or because I don't want her stealing his attention.
Because they make it look easy.
I know it hasn't been easy. I heard enough of his side. And hers even.
But right now, the way they're staring into each other's eyes, flirting over their drinks—
They're the picture of love.
Of this passionate, beautiful love.
They're crazy about each other. And they're comfortable. In the way you can only be when you let your guard down.
Let someone know you.
Love you.
The real you.
It tugs at the stitches in my heart. Not because I had it.
Because I didn't.
I loved Rory. And she loved me. But I never really let my guard down.
I was so busy trying to fit into her perfect world.
Trying to convince myself I wanted the same things she did.
"Do you think he'll bring up Rory?" she asks.
"What would he say?"
"I don't know. Sometimes… I can tell you're thinking about your ex-wife. Not her, exactly, but—"
"My inability to trust."
"You're getting there."
"My three a.m. phone calls don't drive you mad?"
"Only if I'm too tired to—" she lowers her voice to a whisper.
I can't hear, but judging from her blush, it's something about sex.
He whispers. Teases her back. Makes her blush deepen.
It's dirty and adorable at the same time.
Again, my stomach pangs with envy.
They make it look so easy.
Can it really be that easy?
She pulls back enough to finish her drink. "Do you think it was the same for him?"
"With Rory?"
She nods.
"She wasn't fucking someone else."
"Does it have to be about sex?"
"Have you ever met a man?"
She laughs. "No. This is the first time. I'm Eve."
"Ian."
They actually shake. "Tell me more. About being a man."
He leans in to whisper.
Again, she blushes. "You're obsessed."
"Of course."
She smiles in a way that screams I love you. "Do you think that makes it easier for him?"
"I don't know. In some ways, maybe. It's easier to trust again. Harder, not having something to blame."
"Not knowing what happened."
"You never really know. Even when I sat there and listened to Laura explain what happened. Why she felt alone. Why she cheated. She broke it down, step by step. I thought it would be easier if I understood, but it wasn't."
"Did you understand?"
"Intellectually, sure. But how could I ever really understand?"
"You don't talk about it," she says.
"You've read all my thoughts on the matter."
She pulls him into a tight embrace. "You were a mess."
"I'm still a mess."
She shakes her head.
He nods.
They kiss.
Then they're whispering in each other's ears, lost in something that's entirely theirs.
I'm intruding. I should look away.
But I can't.
It's too astounding, seeing my brother in love again.
Seeing him trust again.
Seeing him happy.
He was a mess. Miserable. Angry. Ready to destroy anything and everything that reminded him of his marriage falling apart. Including himself.
And now he's smiling. Talking about his ex-wife in a calm, understanding voice.
Talking about me, yes, but still talking as if he's past it.
He's not the same fucked-up mess.
He's okay.
More than okay.
Over the fucking moon.
"Is it really just men that always make it about sex?" She laughs.
"I am the only one you've met, so you'll have to take my word for it."
"Do you really think Ty—"
"He's not as straitlaced as he seems."
"He doesn't seem straitlaced," she says.
"Exactly."
"Oh." Her green eyes light up. Her cheeks flush. "Really?"
He nods really.
"Details?"
"I shouldn't."
"Details he'd want me to know?"
"He'd tell you them."
She presses her hands together in a pleading expression.
He whispers some other dirty comment in her ear.