Total pages in book: 190
Estimated words: 185785 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 929(@200wpm)___ 743(@250wpm)___ 619(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 185785 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 929(@200wpm)___ 743(@250wpm)___ 619(@300wpm)
Not to mention the fact that Ray has repeatedly ignored my trying to split up means I feel like I’m not exactly single – instead in limbo.
And then again, how would I feel if I moved on from this without giving things with Killian the chance of becoming something? Would I regret it?
Is it just chemistry? Does he just want sex from me, will it fizzle out quickly after that, or could it become more? Could it become everything?
I shake these thoughts off as they threaten to take a firmer hold and get me deep into a fantasy about a life with Killian Coulter. What that might look like. What that might feel like.
I stare at the clock again. It’s finally four o’clock. One more hour until I can go.
Go and dread tomorrow. Because either way, I can’t imagine it’ll be easy.
***
It’s five twenty when I get into Killian’s apartment and disarm the alarm.
He’s standing against the kitchen island, facing me with his arms across his chest.
“Hi,” I greet timidly.
He’s pissed at me, still.
“We’re going out.”
I double blink. “Um…now?”
“What you’re wearing works for our plans. You look good.”
“I…” I look down at myself. I’m wearing a long black pencil skirt, brown boots, and a brown sweater. My hair is ironed straight today.
“Cuttin’ it close as it is, so we gotta go now.”
“Where?”
“Dinner. And the theater.”
“Um…”
“Ready?” He looks angry.
“I don’t know; maybe I should redo my makeup, and-”
“You’re beautiful. Let’s go.”
He shrugs his leather jacket on and sets the alarm as he puts his hand to the small of my back and leads me out.
And off we go, me hearing him tell me I’m beautiful vibrating in my brain.
As we head into the elevator he says, “The show starts at seven. We’ll hit Genesis and eat there. I’ve already put in orders for us. I’ll just text Alana right…” he fiddles on his phone, “now. And she’ll take care of putting the order in.”
I stare, unblinking at the light panel signaling our descent into the parking garage.
When he opens and closes the passenger door for me, his pissed-off attitude doesn’t lessen.
***
“Hello, Violet, how are you?” Alana greets brightly as we step in and approach the hostess station.
“I’m good, thanks. How are you?”
“I’m great. I was sorry to hear your grandfather was ill. Is he doing better?”
She walks us to the table we sat at last time. The rest of the place is buzzing, full.
“He is. He’s at home and it turns out he’s become diabetic, so he’s quite unhappy at the moment because a lot of doctor intervention and lifestyle changes are underway. He’s pretty grumpy about it, but we’re grateful he seems to be okay, mostly.”
“That’s a relief,” she says, and we are seated. “I hope he continues to improve.”
“I replaced that box of Lucky Charms,” I tell her, “For the next time you and your boys are over at Killian’s place. The boys are adorable, Alana.”
She laughs. “I’m sure they’ll be pleased, but I can’t say I am. I try to avoid the sugary cereals. It turns them into little monsters. I swear sugar makes Ash mean.”
“Oh no. Maybe I’ll just eat it myself then and say nothing to them.”
“I’d appreciate that,” she says with a chuckle.
“I’m happy to help,” I raise my hands. “Sugary pastel marshmallows don’t make me mean. They make me downright blissed out.”
Killian clears his throat.
She straightens up and her chuckle halts.
“Have a good evening, you two.” She zooms away.
I watch her go and studiously avoid his eyes.
“Diabetes?” he asks after a moment.
I finally meet his gaze. “Yeah. He’s always been strong and independent, but without Grandma there to remind him about doctors’ appointments and eating properly… ” I shrug. “My mom says he’s not too happy about having to alter his diet. She’s trying to get him to move in with her and Dad but he’s having no part of it. She and Aunt Sara are taking turns with Grampa management. Going over there and making sure he’s okay. Taking him to his appointments, doing his shopping. Policing his sweets and calories.”
“Good. They reschedule that family dinner thing?”
I moisten my lips and stare.
“Am I still invited?” he adds, his gaze serious, almost cutting.
“Killian,” I say softly.
“Violet,” he returns and gives me a scorching-hot look that makes me rear back.
“So, tomorrow…” I try to deflect.
And as soon as I say it, I regret it. Because shit is about to get real there.
“Tomorrow,” he says quickly. “Let’s worry about tomorrow – tomorrow. Yeah?”
I’m not sure I can let go of the worries, but I can tell he’s not interested in having this conversation right now. Probably especially due to the fact we’re in his bar.
What’s one more day of ignorance? Tomorrow I won’t be able to be ignorant, so maybe this feeling today is bliss in contrast to what I’ll feel tomorrow.