Total pages in book: 76
Estimated words: 73117 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 366(@200wpm)___ 292(@250wpm)___ 244(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 73117 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 366(@200wpm)___ 292(@250wpm)___ 244(@300wpm)
“Still have the photos up?” I question although the answer is clear. The photograph paper is yellowed from decades and decades of simply existing. Lysa’s done a hell of a lot to fix up the old bar, but she’s stuck in the past in a lot of ways. Understandably. “You could move them to the backroom you know?” I suggest for the second time. The first was a year ago, maybe more. I know she wants to move them because they just look dated, but she’s dead set on the fact that they belong there.
A brunette lock slips out of place from her bun of messy hair, falling gently against the curve of Lysa’s jaw when she turns to look over her shoulder.
I know her body better than I know the backroads. And damn do I miss it every time I leave. I spent my life in a truck, she spent hers in this bar. Both of us taking after our fathers.
“I just don’t want to move them; you know?”
“I get it, it just might help bring the bar up to this decade… or,” I offer up, “You could take it back. You know, make it look like a speakeasy or something? Isn’t that the look that your grandpa went for back then?”
I’ve been thinking a lot about this bar and what Lysa could do on little money and even short time.
She laughs at me, “No. It was not a speakeasy. It was a biker club.” The hint of a smile at her lips is addictive.
“Make it a biker club then,” I shrug knowing damn well what she’s going to say.
“In a small town with no bikers, I bet that would go over just wonderfully.”
“You know what they say, you build it and they’ll come.”
She shrugs it off, tiredness forces a yawn out of her.
I finish off the last bit of my beer and the empty bottle clinks when I set it back down.
“You want to get out of here?” she asks me.
No. I don’t want to get out of here. I want to stay with her and bring that smile, sweet and innocent, full of hope, back to her beautiful face. Just like it was when I first saw her. I want to stay here and fix this with her. Sometimes though… all a person can do is stand beside them and wait.
“If you do,” I answer her, lowering my voice and letting my gaze drop to those lips of hers. Lips I dream about kissing every night. She parts them just slightly, taking in a sharp inhale. “Yeah,” I tell her, pushing myself off the stool and grabbing my cap. “Let’s get out of here.”
Lysa
IT’S QUIET BETWEEN us all the way to my house, the dogs padding along as Dean pats them and occasionally scratches their backs on the way.
The crickets are out, the early autumn night has just a slight chill to it, but still warm enough. And the moon is clear, shining down and giving me enough light to see the rough stubble on Dean’s jaw.
He keeps his arm around my waist the entire walk and it makes me feel weak because all I want to do is lean into him.
The backdoor shuts with a loud groan and I lock it, feeling Dean’s eyes on me. The house has charm and features from a century ago. Just like the bar. It’s expensive to maintain, but every penny tile, and carved molding feature is worth it.
Some people say I’m an old soul. I just think I have good taste.
Dean doesn’t waste his time taking off his boots and stretching out his back. Maybe he’s trying to hide it, but I know he’s tired too.
“You want to just go to bed?” I ask him, feeling a ping of vulnerability. He could stay at the truck stop, and sleep in the back of his truck like I know he used to. He could get a hotel. Or he can come here, where I give everything to him freely. My girlfriend Laura had something to say about that a while back. Two years ago before she moved to Texas with her boyfriend, now husband.
I told her then, I do what feels right. And Dean… everything about him feels right. Up until he’s gone, that is.
“I want you in bed, if that’s what you mean.” His strong muscles coil as he pulls his shirt off, dragging it along and revealing himself to me inch by inch until the shirt is nothing but a crumpled ball of cloth he tosses carelessly on the floor. The way he looks at me, like he wants to devour me, steals my breath.
His barefoot self only in blue jeans making his way to me forces me to take one step back. This man is too much. He has a power over me like no one else.