Total pages in book: 68
Estimated words: 66080 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 330(@200wpm)___ 264(@250wpm)___ 220(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 66080 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 330(@200wpm)___ 264(@250wpm)___ 220(@300wpm)
He bats his hand. “All’s I’ve got is a bunch of overused sayings. But you? You’re smart. You’re educated. You’ve got your shit together. I think he looks up to you more than either of us realize.”
“You think?”
“You’re the first person he goes to with all his problems. You’re the first to know what’s going on in his life. He doesn’t do a damn thing without your stamp of approval. When you two were kids, I used to joke behind his back that you were his security blanket. I think he’d be a little lost without you.”
While Paul’s words are meant as a compliment, the guilt of knowing that I’ve slept with Jovie twice now gnaws away at me.
I’ve justified my actions with anger and resentment.
These kinds of things never end well.
“What’s the matter over there? I hear a lot of sighing and huffing.” He pauses the TV and careens his neck my way. “Got something on your mind? It isn’t healthy to bottle that shit up, believe me. There’s this guy I met down in Florida. Spent his whole life in the closet, if you know what I mean. At least until his sixty-fifth birthday. He came out after his father passed. Guess he didn’t want to disappoint him or something like that. Anyway, he died of a heart attack on the beach three months later, never got to live his truth. Don’t let that be you.”
“I slept with Jovie,” I say in one long breath.
While I thought it’d feel better to have it off my chest, something about my confession only makes me feel ten times heavier. I’m anchored in place, ready for one of Paul’s infamous come to Jesus lectures.
“Oof.” Paul shakes his head, sitting up in his chair. “That’s … that’s a doozy.”
I was expecting a bigger reaction than that.
Still, I don’t know what else to say, so I choose silence.
“Do you like her or was she just a lay?” he blinks.
“I love her, Paul. I’ve loved her from the moment I met her.”
His curious expression lightens and a smile crawls across his thin lips. “Well, hot damn. Stone’s in love.”
“You don’t think I’m a piece of shit for sleeping with my best friend’s ex?” And then I add, “While he’s going through a personal crisis?”
Paul waves his hand in the air, as if to clear a slate. “The whole thing about bro codes and exes being off limits, I’ve never understood. In my day, that wasn’t a thing. These ridiculous rules you guys put on yourselves are comical, really. You can’t put all these restrictions on your own happiness. And you know what else? Jude had a shot with her years ago and he blew it. He had her and he let her go. He hooked her, caught her, reeled her in, and then he threw her back into the sea. As far as I’m concerned, that makes her fair game.”
“I have a feeling he’s not going to see it that way.”
“Then let that be a lesson to him.” Paul points at me, driving home his words. “A priceless one at that. One in the hand is not always worth two in the bush. You have something good? You keep it. You hold onto it. And you never let it go.”
“When should I tell him?”
“After I fly out tomorrow,” he says with his raspy smoker’s chuckle and a twinkle in his eye. “I’ve got no desire to stick around for that fight. You two can sort it out like the grown men you are.”
Something tells me it’s not going to be that simple.
Chapter Forty-Nine
Jovie
* * *
I wake in Stone’s bed Saturday morning, disoriented for a moment. Last night was the first time I stayed over, and while I meant to leave after we had our fun, he insisted I stay for a second round—which turned into a third round sometime around 2 AM.
The clock on his nightstand reads a quarter past eight, and while I’m so exhausted pain sinks into my marrow, I’m back in that wired-but-tired stage. Who has time for sleep when everything is buzzing and Technicolor?
I slide out from beneath his covers and find one of his white button-down Oxfords draped over the chair in the far corner of his room. I pull it over my head, fluff my hair out from the collar, and tug the hem into place a few inches past my rear. The faded scent of his cologne clings to the starched fabric, and I steal a greedy lungful before tiptoeing downstairs to his kitchen to make coffee.
With a little bit of work, I manage to locate his K-cups, some almond milk creamer, and a couple of mugs.
I’m brewing the first cup, when I turn to place it on the island—only to be met with a fully clothed man standing on the other end of it.