Total pages in book: 69
Estimated words: 69129 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 346(@200wpm)___ 277(@250wpm)___ 230(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 69129 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 346(@200wpm)___ 277(@250wpm)___ 230(@300wpm)
A small, almost tickled sounding grunt is expelled from the man I find more and more intriguing with each passing moment.
“Sailing or yachting?”
“Yachting.” He shifts the book closer to him the instant I’ve finished drawing. “We fight less and fuck more.”
Lecherous laughter that feels almost as natural as breathing reverberates throughout the room. “That definitely sounds right.”
Wes flashes me a small smirk that’s followed by his eyes dropping to the sheet of paper.
“Calamari or oysters?”
“You don’t eat oysters unless they’re fried.” Outlining a find swiftly begins. “And never when they’re Rocky Mountain Oysters.” He pushes the object back to me. “You claim the only balls you want in your mouth for an appetizer are mine.” Snickers shake what has to easily be a six foot plus frame. “You have an amazing way with words.”
“My mom is very proud of that regardless of how much she bitches that my timing sucks.”
“Your mother is rightfully proud of you.” Our eyes briefly lock again. “For so many reasons.”
“How many of them are wrong?”
“None.”
Uncomfortable by the subtle praise almost as much as his intimate knowledge of me, I slightly shift my lower half and redirect my stare to searching for another word. “Better theme song, The Original or Next Gen?”
“Next Gen.”
“Pulaski or Bones?”
“Bones – but the one from the Kelvin timeline.”
“The fact that you even know there’s a Kelvin timeline is incredible.” Sending my mirth filled gaze to his is accompanied by a wide grin. “And fins down the sexiest shit I’ve ever heard.”
“Sharks and Star Trek.” His smile stretches to meet the size of mine. “That’s you.”
“That is so me.” Curiosity freely roams my expression. “How long have we been dating?”
Color alongside confidence instantly drains from his face. “We aren’t…technically…dating anymore.”
“Why’d we break up?” Anger viciously darts up my spine. “Did you fucking cheat on me?! Because I swear to Jean-Luc Picard I’ll-”
“Never.”
A skeptical eyebrow is immediately cocked.
“You’re it for me, Bryn. You’ve…always been it for me. My person. The one to challenge me. The one that sees me. The real me. Not the burns. Not the scars. Not the money or power. Not what I can do for them. No…” His slow headshake precedes his rough palm reaching over to gently clutch mine. “You see the man that would rather spend days locked away reading comics rather than quarterly reports.”
“Nerd…” seeps free in an impish fashion.
“You see the man that struggles every goddamn day to find his place in the world…to…leave behind his mark in his family’s legacy.”
Legacy?
Who the hell am I dating?!
Is he a celebrity?
Athlete?
Oh!
Oh!
Secret prince?!
“You see the man that’s hungry for growth and change, not clout and wealth.”
My body thoughtlessly leans a little closer.
“You, Bryn…You see the man I strive to be…not the monster I keep managing to become.”
It’s impossible to stop my pen free hand from adoringly cupping his cheek. “Then why aren’t we still together, Wes?”
“We are.” His left hand leaves its resting position to present itself to me. “We’re married.”
Chapter 6
Brynley
No.
No.
No.
There’s no fucking way that’s true.
He’s gotta be fucking with me.
I would never get married.
And no one would ever wanna marry me!
Unless this is a whole mistaken identity thing?
Or am I being cat phished?
Siskospreadonacracker…this better not be a fucking cat phish situation.
I mean who would do that?!
Who would con a woman – a flat broke woman at that – in her hospital room in the middle of brain recovery shit?
Though, if you ask me, my brain is fucking fine.
All aquatic shit accounted for.
All daddy issues separated and segregated accordingly.
Fuck, the only reason I even think anything is missing is because they – the doctors and my mom – tell me it is.
But like…this isn’t what’s missing, right?
Like I can just magically forget that I’m fucking married.
That’s not something that the brain just erases.
This isn’t fucking “Conundrum”, which totally deserves a higher ranking on the all-time greatest episodes list.
“What do you mean she’s catatonic?!” shouts an unfamiliar voice. “She can’t be catatonic and have amnesia, Wes!”
He’s on the phone?
When the fuck did he get on the phone?
Why don’t I remember him getting on the phone?!
“Scientifically speaking, I believe she can.”
“Dude.”
“A quick Google search said-”
“Wes!”
“Look, one minute we were talking and-”
“Talking or flirting?”
“What does it matter?”
“That could’ve triggered her to retreat inside! You know what Hamilton and Vickers both said in regard to how we approach the situation.”
“I do.”
“Then were you talking or flirting?!”
His choice in silence shifts my stare to where he’s running a frustrated hand through his hair as he mumbles, “I didn’t mean to flirt, J.T. I just…” he shakes his head in clear helplessness, “I can’t help it. It’s…Bryn, you know?”
An undeniable ache abruptly appears in my chest.
“Yeah.” The pause is followed by a loud sigh. “You’ve never been able to resist her.”
“Not for long periods of time.”
“And five minutes in her hospital room was too long, wasn’t it?”