Total pages in book: 127
Estimated words: 122506 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 613(@200wpm)___ 490(@250wpm)___ 408(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 122506 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 613(@200wpm)___ 490(@250wpm)___ 408(@300wpm)
“I thought so once. Thought I was in love once. That I was loved in return.” He makes a gesture with his head, the action of a man considering something. “But it turned out not so.”
“I’m sorry.” I know he’s never been married, because it would’ve said so in our marriage license.
My stomach swoops like a dive-bombing magpie. My husband. Why aren’t I terrified?
“Life is all about learning,” he replies prosaically.
“What did you learn from love? Because all I learned was love sucks hairy arse.”
“I learned that the betrayed will betray you and the deceived will deceive you.”
Guilt. That’s what his response sounds like. But strangely, not his tone. Did he cheat and she repaid him in kind? It’s hard to tell. At least his lesson sounds more poetic than mine.
“When you split,” he begins again, “friends stood by you, though, right? And family. Didn’t any of them want to key his car or maybe beat him to a bloody pulp?”
“I don’t really have family. Just my slightly nutty granny, who was convinced . . . well, it doesn’t really matter what she thought. And our friends took his side. Oh, they made sympathetic noises initially, tempered with murmurs of It’s better to find out you’re not suited now. As though being habitually unfaithful is something anyone would put on their wish list.” I snort inelegantly, still stung by the memories. “Such a joke. Everything went off the rails for a while after that. I got caught up with business trouble, and there were things going on at home. By the time I resurfaced, my so-called friends had stopped being interested. And then, of course, they absorbed the new Mila into their orbit.”
“Jesus . . . really?”
“It’s a couples group. No one wants exes staring daggers at each other over dinner. But I wasn’t around, and that must’ve been convenient, given my ex’s new fiancée now sits in my chair. So I’ve heard.”
“Fuck. Sounds like you’re better off without them.”
“Yes.” Not that I was given the choice. “I’m not saying I wanted people to choose sides.” I can hear my voice becoming spiky with anger, but I can’t seem to stop myself. “But I couldn’t understand it. I still don’t. They chose him, and he cheated on me! What does that say about him as a person? As a friend? God, I hate that he wasted my twenties, the best years of my life!”
“Mila.” Oh, the way he says my name. “Your twenties won’t be the best years of your life.”
“How do you know?”
“Because I’m heading toward the end of my fourth decade, and it’s been a blast.”
“No way. No way you’re nearly forty.” He’s obviously older than me, but I suppose I hadn’t put a number on it.
“Careful.” The backs of his fingers are a tender caress against my cheek. “I might get used to this flattery.”
“Hah.” The sound is just a breath of air between us, his eyes on mine, mine watching his. It’s not flattery, exactly. Maybe I just assumed those laughter lines at the outer corners of his eyes came from his near-constant amusement.
“Unless you’re trying to flatter me,” he adds in that bedroomy tone of his. “Because where would that leave us then?”
Naked. And in the bedroom.
Fin will be one of those men who grow into their years. He won’t have any trouble attracting younger women even when he’s old and gray. He has that—what do the French call it? Je ne sais quoi. That certain something. An undefinable allure.
“You told me you like older men,” he murmurs as he captures a loose lock of my hair.
“Did I?” I swallow, my breath tight and my response husky.
“Yeah,” he murmurs, twirling it around his forefinger.
Maybe it’s more the case of liking what Sarai said yesterday. A man who’s firm but gentle. A man who’d take you to your limits while also taking care of you. The thought drops into my core, a percussion so tempting that I panic.
“I dread to think what else I said. I’m sure it was mostly nonsense.” I give a reedy-sounding chuckle as I pull from his orbit. “Anyway, I don’t remember.”
“I hope it comes back to you. It was an experience well worth remembering.”
“If there was a Dirty Dancing lift, then I’ll pass.”
But it does seem like a squandered opportunity. Fin seems to be a man who takes his craft, and his partner’s pleasure, very seriously. So maybe it’s best that I don’t remember at all.
“Coward,” he says, his own amusement low and throaty. “Is your ex older?”
I pull a face. “Maybe the older-men shtick was just flattery.”
“You didn’t need to sweet-talk me. You already had me.”
“Maybe I was just joking—pulling your leg.”
His answer is a taunting, doubtful expression.
“It doesn’t sound like me is all I’m saying.” I give a spiky one-shouldered shrug. “I can’t see the attraction, honestly.”