Total pages in book: 101
Estimated words: 95775 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 479(@200wpm)___ 383(@250wpm)___ 319(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 95775 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 479(@200wpm)___ 383(@250wpm)___ 319(@300wpm)
“Hey.” I try to keep my voice stable, but there’s a sharpness to it that cuts through. She can tell because her expression grows concerned.
“Are you okay?”
I nod. “Things sort of went south after I went back to work. I’m fine, though.”
She smiles, but it’s kind of sad. “Yeah, my night went south, too.”
I didn’t notice at first, but it looks like she’s been crying. Her eyes are glassy and a little puffy. “Are you okay?”
She forces another smile. “I will be. I just wanted to say thank you for tonight before I went to sleep.”
I hate that she’s not standing in front of me right now. I don’t like seeing her sad; it reminds me too much of all the times I saw her sad when we were younger. At least back then I was close enough to hug her. Maybe I still can.
“Would a hug make you feel better?”
“Obviously. I’ll be fine after I get some sleep, though. Talk tomorrow?”
I have no idea what happened between our date and this phone call, but she looks completely defeated. She looks very similar to how I feel.
“Hugs take two seconds, and you’ll sleep so much better. I’ll be back here before they even know I’ve left. What’s your address?”
A small grin peeks through her gloom. “You’re going to drive five miles just to give me a hug?”
“I’d run five miles just to give you a hug.”
That makes her smile even bigger. “I’ll text you my address. But don’t knock too loud; I just put Emmy down.”
“See you soon.”
Chapter Fourteen Lily
I’ve been out of the dating loop for a while, so if hug is code for something else, I have no idea.
Surely a hug still just means a hug.
I can barely work social media, much less keep up with slang. I swear, I’m the most out-of-touch millennial I know. It’s as if I skipped right over Gen X and into Boomer territory. I’m a Boomer millennial. A boollennial. Hell, my mother is a Boomer and probably knows more about these things than I do. She’s the one with a new boyfriend. I should call her and ask for pointers.
I brush my teeth, just in case a hug is a kiss. And then I change clothes twice, until I end up back in the pajamas I had on when I FaceTimed him. I’m trying way too hard to look like I’m not trying too hard. Sometimes being a woman is so dumb.
I’m pacing my apartment, anxious for his knock. I don’t know why I’m so nervous; I just spent three hours with him.
Well, one and a half if I don’t count the nap I took in the middle of our date.
Several dozen paces later, there’s a light tap on my apartment door. I know it’s Atlas, but I glance through the peephole anyway.
He even looks good all distorted through a peephole. I smile when I noticed he changed, too. Just his jacket, but still. He was wearing a thick black coat when we went out earlier, but now he’s wearing a simple gray hoodie.
Dear God. I like it so much.
I open the door, and Atlas leaves zero seconds between our first moment of eye contact and when his arms sweep me in for a hug.
He holds me so tight, it makes me want to ask him what was so bad about the last hour, but I don’t. I just quietly hug him back. I settle my cheek against his shoulder and revel in the comfort of him.
Atlas didn’t even step inside my apartment. We’re just standing in the doorway, as if a hug still just means a hug. His cologne is nice. It reminds me of summer, like he’s defying the cold. He seemed so concerned about smelling like garlic earlier, but all I could smell was this same cologne.
He lifts a hand to the back of my head and rests it there gently. “You okay?”
“I am now.” My response is muffled against him. “You?”
He sighs, but he doesn’t say he’s okay. He just leaves his answer hanging in his exhale, until he slowly releases me. He lifts a hand and runs his fingers down a piece of my hair. “I hope you get some sleep tonight.”
“You too,” I say.
“I’m not going home, I’m staying at the restaurant tonight.” He shakes that sentence off like he shouldn’t have said anything. “It’s a long story, and I need to get back. I’ll catch you up on everything tomorrow.”
I want to invite him in and make him give me all the details right now, but I feel like he’d offer them up if he were in the mood. I’m certainly not in the mood to talk about what happened with Ryle, so I’m not going to force him to talk about whatever put a damper on his night. I just wish there was a way I could make it better.