Total pages in book: 59
Estimated words: 55608 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 278(@200wpm)___ 222(@250wpm)___ 185(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 55608 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 278(@200wpm)___ 222(@250wpm)___ 185(@300wpm)
He reaches out and takes my hand. Buzzing electricity flutters up my arm. I’m used to the feeling of my heart trying to bust out of my chest, but that’s usually nerves, the awkwardness that comes before reading aloud in class. This is something else. This is pure desire trying to make me do something reckless.
“It’s good to see you,” he says, his voice husky like my fantasy.
Tell him now. Instead, I say, “And you, Duke.” We’re still holding hands. “I’ve been looking forward to this all day.”
He smirks, letting my hand go and opening the passenger-side door. “I’ve been looking forward to this since before we met.”
I laugh, but only because he says it in a joking tone. I don’t actually find it funny. In fact, it hits me like a good piece of poetry, right in the feels. It slams into me so hard I almost throw myself at him, kiss him passionately, then tell him I feel the same. I really feel the same, and not just as some throwaway comment.
Once I’m in the car, he closes the door and walks around to the driver’s side. I love how he moves like a lion, slow and easy but ready to spring into ferocious action.
“Have you had a good day?” he asks, starting the car.
You could tell him right now, a voice notes distantly. I’m letting this go way too far. “Yeah,” I reply. “It was quite exciting, actually. I was watching some MMA fights.”
He glances at me with that captivating smirk, then watches the road. “Did you see the one where I was knocked out?”
“Yeah, and I also saw where you knocked him out in the next fight.”
“That’s my only loss,” he says ruefully. “I avenged it. That means something, but it still stings.”
I think about the version of Duke I watched online: his hair black instead of streaked with silver, his body leaner, less experienced. I prefer him now. Maybe that says something about me. I don’t care. I love the silver hair and the seasoned strength.
“Were you scared?” I ask.
“For which fight?”
“All of them.”
He casually glides the steering wheel around, taking the question seriously. “I was never scared of getting hurt, but I was worried I’d lose everything I worked for. I’d invested all this time in fighting, and nothing would come of it. That was my biggest fear. Not being able to provide for my son.”
I swallow. This is the best time to tell him. Maybe there’s a chance he’ll still want to go on the date. Yet the moment keeps passing me by, or perhaps I’m letting it.
It would be natural for me to ask some follow-up questions here. Is he close with his son? Is he on good terms with the mother? Whatever, but I can’t bring myself to do it.
“Are you okay?” he says after a minute or two of silence.
“Yeah, just…” Tell him. “Sorry. Am I quieter than your other dates?”
He scowls. For a second, he looks so much like Ryan. I almost expect him to start berating me or to throw a critical comment my way. He doesn’t smell of booze like Ryan often did, though. Like Dad often did, too. Or maybe the word I’m looking for is always.
“I don’t have other dates,” he says shortly.
Well, that’s just a lie. I could play this subtly, but I don’t. “I saw the app, Duke. It’s fine. People date. It’s—”
“Bullshit,” he cuts in fiercely. “I downloaded that app because a buddy at the gym suggested it. He thinks I need some fun in my life. I matched with some women, but I felt nothing. I didn’t message any of them. I didn’t even try. It doesn’t feel real, but this… this feels real.”
If he’s lying, he’s saying all the right things. His words light me up and make me believe I’m different and special. Maybe he wants me as badly as I want him. Even if that’s true, it’s not good. It’ll just make the crash that much more painful.
“I’m telling the truth,” he says gruffly as if reading my mind.
“Okay, so when was your last date?” I ask.
He gets that pondering look again, giving my words serious weight. “Roughly four years ago.”
“Four years ago,” I say doubtfully.
“You don’t believe me,” he chuckles. “Is it that hard to believe?”
“Have you seen yourself, Duke? Women must be clamoring to get their hands on you. I bet if we brought up all your matches on that dating app and compared them to me…”
He comes to an abrupt stop, causing me to jolt forward slightly. Quick as a viper, he puts his arm out, bracing me, though I’m wearing a seatbelt.
“Sorry,” he mutters, nodding ahead. “Asshole.”
A big truck has stopped in front of us. Duke watches it with the cool calm of a predator and then nods shortly when the car pulls away.