Total pages in book: 39
Estimated words: 37197 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 186(@200wpm)___ 149(@250wpm)___ 124(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 37197 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 186(@200wpm)___ 149(@250wpm)___ 124(@300wpm)
“I don’t think she sees it that way.”
“That’s on you to make her see, brother.”
I shake my head again. “I don’t know how.”
“Do you want to be with her?”
“I do,” I say without hesitation.
“Then go and get her. Change her mind,” he says. “After all, like you just told me, she’s not splitting up because she wants to.”
I lean back against the truck and think about his words. As I do, an image of Harlow’s face floats through my mind, and I’m struck again by those beautiful cerulean eyes. And I’m struck once again by the Harlow-shaped hole in my heart. Her absence has been painful for me. I’m not used to being torn up about losing somebody, and I don’t like the feelings rampaging through me.
Darnell is right. If I want to plug that hole in my heart and stem this tide of black emotions coursing through my veins, I have to fight for her. I have to get her back. I need to make her understand that this situation with Micah has nothing to do with her. I need to make Harlow understand that she’s mine.
“Yeah,” I say. “You’re right.”
“You going to go get her back?”
I nod. “Yeah. I am.”
“Good boy. One favor, though.”
“What’s that?”
“Do it soon,” he says. “You’re an unbearable asshole without her.”
“Copy that,” I say with a laugh. “Thanks, brother.”
He claps me on the shoulder. “Anytime, man. Now, go get her.”
14
HARLOW
I’ll never understand why ice cream and sappy, sentimental movies seem to be the go-to for a lot of women after a rough breakup. It’s such a terrible cliché that I always used to make fun of women who indulge their feelings like that.
But here I am. Days after breaking up with Hunter, I’ve spent my time off work rooted to the couch, going through the entire Nicholas Sparks catalog of movies and eating more Ben and Jerry’s ice cream than the entire state of Vermont. I wouldn’t be surprised to find out there’s a countrywide shortage of Peanut Butter Cup ice cream and Kleenex.
I feel ridiculous, but I don’t know how to cope with my feelings, so terrible, tear-jerking, angst-filled movies and stuffing my face with more calories than one person should consume in a lifetime seems like the best course of action. On the screen, Ryan Gosling and Rachel McAdams are sharing a passionate kiss in the rain, and I feel a dull ache in my heart as my eyes sting and my vision blurs with tears.
It’s such a quiet moment I can hear my heart beating, and I jump out of my skin when there’s a hard knock on my door.
“Jesus,” I mutter as I clamp my hand over my chest.
Once the shock fades, it’s replaced by a twinge of irritation. I’m not expecting anybody. If I had to guess, Marcy is going to be on the other side of that door. She’s noticed that I’ve been out of sorts the last few days and has been on me about it a bit. Once I told her what was going on, her motherly side kicked in, and she’s been doing her best to help me through it. She doesn’t necessarily agree with my decision, but she understands why I did it.
Sloughing off the couch, I trudge to the front door, doing my best to summon a happy face. Or maybe a face that’s slightly happier than it has been. As much as I appreciate Marcy for trying to help me, the coddling is getting to be a little much. I just need to wallow in these feelings for a little while if I’m going to get through them. There’s nothing a good pity party can’t fix. Eventually.
When I open the door, the phony smile I’ve been wearing drops away immediately, and my heart picks up the pace again.
“Hunter.”
My voice comes out in a croaking, stuttering gasp when I see him standing in my doorway. Dressed in black jeans, black boots, and a black long-sleeved t-shirt, he cuts an imposing and entirely delectable figure. Despite my best efforts to suppress my feelings, my heart tumbles drunkenly in my chest as my more intimate parts flutter and start to grow warm. It would be so much easier if he didn’t have this kind of effect on me.
“Can we talk?” he asks.
My lips tremble. “I don’t think—”
Before the words are even out of my mouth, he brushes past me and walks into my apartment. I stand there looking at the empty hallway for a moment as I try to gather myself. It’s probably not going to happen anytime soon, so I close the door, turn, and follow Hunter into the living room.
The flickering light of the television illuminates his strong profile and glitters off those dark, sultry eyes as he looks at me. Just like that, I can feel all my resolve melting away. He points to the TV screen and the ice cream container, giving me a crooked grin.