Total pages in book: 97
Estimated words: 92529 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 463(@200wpm)___ 370(@250wpm)___ 308(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 92529 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 463(@200wpm)___ 370(@250wpm)___ 308(@300wpm)
“Fuck both of you. This isn’t helping me.” Hope Roman. God, she didn’t need him and she had no reason to give him another shot.
“Because you’re still thinking that material items are the way to get her back. Nothing about that woman screams materialistic. I’ve not met anyone more down to earth than Hope. And that’s saying a lot. Dawson is pretty much like that but the woman loves her clothes and shoes.”
“And Emma always thinks about Greer first.”
He got what they were trying to say, even if he didn’t want to understand.
“It’s clicking, Tully. I see the wheels struggling,” Linc said.
“Sod off, Linc.” He raked a hand through his hair. “What the fuck is a science journalist?”
Tully reached for another taco shell and filled it up. Sucking something off his thumb, he said, “A person who covers stories in ecology, conservation, wildlife biology, and animal behavior. And your woman is a fucking expert in her field.”
Reaching for another shell himself, Mitchell glared at his friend. “How the fuck do you know that?”
“I read,” he snapped.
“Dawson told him,” Linc added with a snort as he finished a beer then reached for another, the pile of them in the center of the table dwindling.
“Like you knew,” Tully retorted. “Tell me that Emma didn’t tell you?”
Linc shrugged and Mitchell laughed. Sure, it was pathetic and sad sounding, but it wasn’t tears. He was grateful for his friends. They always had his back.
“Okay, okay,” he interrupted. “Focus on me.”
“See, he got famous and now he’s used to having the attention on him.” Tully ate half of the taco. He wiped off his mouth and beard before jabbing the remaining part in Mitchell’s direction. “Needy fucker.”
He grabbed himself even though the table covered the action. Tully rolled his eyes.
“You bitches were just as famous.”
“What do you mean were? I still am.” Tully stroked his beard and adopted a smug expression.
Linc threw tomatoes at him. “We have to help this man because I don’t want to deal with him in a world where he had Hope then lost her.”
Tully sobered as well. “Shit, you’re right. Let’s get this figured out.”
…
Hope adjusted the strap of her tank top and tipped her head to view the rushing water streaming down the falls. God, it was refreshing and she wanted to stand there forever and let it wash over her. The fact it took her tears with it didn’t hurt matters.
Normally a scene like this, a view she was privileged to have, would be uplifting and exciting. Right now, she simply wanted to cry like a baby.
Suck it up, Roman. It’s not like he was even yours to begin with.
Damn subconscious. Always interjecting when it wasn’t requested or appreciated. Closing her eyes, she stood there in the cold liquid of the Gato waterfall. She was standing beneath one of the small streams. Ilha de São Sebastião was one of her favorite places to visit in Brazil.
“You sure you’re okay, Hope?”
Goose bumps popped up along her skin as she stepped out of the water and turned to face the man who’d hollered at her. Wiping the lingering water off her face, she gave him the best grin she could manage. João Carvalho was probably the last friend she had in the world.
Liar. Images of Emma Henricksen and Dawson Shay popped into her brain. Not to mention the women from the mixer, Wendy and Sonya. They were friends and would no doubt be supportive of her.
Nope. She wasn’t going there. Pushing those images away, she shook the water off her arms and hands.
“Be right there.” She spoke in his native language of Portuguese, as he’d done when he’d asked her the question.
He shrugged and held up his camera. “Take your time, I’m getting some fantastic photos.”
She knew he meant it. The man was an incredible photographer. He worked for National Geographic and traveled the world to bring people his incredible shots. Making her way over to where he was zoomed in on a small bug on a leaf, she peered over his shoulder, dripping on it and not worrying about ruining his shot. She knew this man well. If it was something he hadn’t wanted her to muck up, he never would have said anything.
“That’s an ant.”
“It is. An Ectatomma species, if you’d like to be more specific,” he returned, seconds before he spun and pointed the lens directly in her face. Sputtering at him, she smacked at him.
“Hey, hey. Watch the goods.” He backed up, his dark eyes sparkling as he held his hands away from his sides.
She glared. “You think I don’t know you’re still pressing the damn shutter?”
His smirk turned downright evil as he continued to jog backward. With a shriek, she lunged after him and gave chase. Five minutes later they were both back in the water, gear safely on the bank, laughing as they played like they were five-year-olds instead of the respectable adults they pretended to be.