Total pages in book: 128
Estimated words: 127712 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 639(@200wpm)___ 511(@250wpm)___ 426(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 127712 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 639(@200wpm)___ 511(@250wpm)___ 426(@300wpm)
Good friend. Nice one, Nova. Way to make a guy feel special.
I greet Deenya, shake her hand, smile politely, then chastise myself for not accepting the label of ‘friends’ with more grace. Because before I arrived yesterday, Nova wasn’t telling anyone I was her friend.
“We got hungry and decided to come into town.”
“Oh.” Deenya eyes me. “Is he a house guest?”
She asks this like I’m not standing right here. Like I’m a clueless dumbfuck who is unable to parse meanings.
“He is,” Nova says. Then she glances up at me and smiles.
I let out a small breath. You’re here, Locke. On a date with the woman you love. She is introducing you to her mother figure—in fact, this whole date might be our meet-the-parents moment. Or as close to that kind of moment as she and I will ever get.
“Well, I won’t interfere,” Deenya says, then waves her hand to our table and says, “I’ll send wine and bread.” Then she turns with a swish of her mu-mu and hastily walks off, pointing to servers.
I pull a chair out for Nova and she sits, glancing up at me as I push her in. Then I take my seat across from her just as a server arrives with wine, glasses, and a basket of bread. She explains the specials, hands out menus, and leaves us alone.
I put my napkin in my lap and picture Nova Ryan naked on top of me.
“What’s that smirk for?” She takes a sip of her wine, but her eyes never leave mine.
“Picturing you naked.” I say this with all the casualness of someone discussing the weather.
“Nice.”
Nova Ryan is a nice girl. Smart. Courteous. Discreet. Wise, even.
But she’s dirty.
She chuckles under her breath. “Now you’ve done it.”
“What have I done?”
“Now I’m picturing you naked.”
Nah. She’s not picturing me naked. She’s picturing me with my pants undone. With her hand inside them. Her palm gripping my dick.
“Locke.”
“Hmm?”
“Later.”
I grin. “Yeah. Later for sure.”
We order. Drink wine. Eat bread with homemade butter. Deenya comes by again when our food arrives, but doesn’t hover. It’s good food. Homemade, farm-to-table kind of thing.
Dessert arrives a couple minutes after our plates are cleared. One large dish of steaming blueberry cobbler with two spoons. Complimentary.
It’s a nice night. In fact, it’s a great night.
A date night.
Our small talk during the meal was mostly about Veda. Her schooling—she’s homeschooled—and her new fascination—checkers.
“You should play checkers with her, Locke. She thinks about every move like it’s chess. She’s so serious.”
I make a promise to do that.
There’s a lull in the conversation at this point. We’ve had a few bites of the dessert, sipped a few sips of the last-course wine, and now we’re looking out at the fireflies in the lavender garden.
Contemplating something, I guess. Maybe she’s thinking about how I will ravish her in less than an hour.
“Do you ever talk to him, Locke?” She pulls her gaze away from the window and those forest-green eyes of hers meet mine.
Or maybe she’s not thinking about me at all.
“Who?” I ask innocently. Even though I’m well aware of who she’s asking about.
“Mercer. Who else?”
And there it is. The fucking elephant in the room. Every single time. That guy follows us around like a haunting.
“Of course I talk to him, Nova. He’s my fuckin’ partner.”
“I mean, do you talk to him about us? Does he know you’re here?”
“Do you think he knows I’m here?”
“That wasn’t the question.”
“He knows I’m somewhere, obviously. And he’s not an idiot.”
“Does he ever ask about me? Or Veda?”
The truth is, I’m not even sure that Mercer knows that Veda is called Veda. When he found out that Nova was pregnant, he kinda lost it. He has never once talked to me about Veda. Or Nova, for that matter.
When Silas Mercer walks out on you, he’s done.
And he’s done with her.
“Well, I guess that’s my answer,” Nova says. “Your silence says a lot.”
Don’t overreact, Locke. You’re here. She wants you to stay. Mercer is gone.
“You know what I don’t get?”
“What?” I ask.
“Why he doesn’t blame you.”
I huff out a laugh and play with my wineglass. When I look up at her, my eyes are dark. And I’m not talking about their color. “Should he blame me?”
Her eyes get dark too. “I didn’t… I wasn’t…”
But she can’t even finish her sentence, because she did and she was.
The whole thing—from start to finish—was her fault.
I mean, we all played our parts, but it was her. She was the one who walked out first. Mercer just… took it to the next level.
But that being said, I don’t blame her. And neither should Mercer.
Things just got a little out of hand back at the Institute.
“Do you want me to leave, Nova?”
“No. Why would you say that?”
“Because we don’t talk about the past. Ever.”
She draws in a long breath, has the decency to look down at her lap and feel a little shame. “Sorry.” And when she looks up again, the darkness is gone. “But if I didn’t ask, then I’d be wondering about it.”