Total pages in book: 94
Estimated words: 92140 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 461(@200wpm)___ 369(@250wpm)___ 307(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 92140 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 461(@200wpm)___ 369(@250wpm)___ 307(@300wpm)
“I agree.”
“So I’m—I’m going to delete your number, okay? And you delete mine. That way we won’t even be tempted.”
“Okay.”
“Okay.” I hesitated. “So I guess I’ll say goodnight for real. And I’ll see you at the wedding.”
“The wedding. Right.”
“And I’m going to be cool and professional tomorrow, even though that’s not how I’ll feel on the inside. Don’t take it the wrong way.”
“I understand.” He paused. “You’re not going to wear that black dress you had on in New York, are you?”
“No.”
“Good. Then there’s a chance I can keep my hands to myself.”
I smiled. “Goodnight, Zach.”
“Night.”
CHAPTER 10
ZACH
I was more nervous getting ready for Mason’s wedding than I had been for my own.
In fact, I hardly remembered my own wedding. My ex had made every decision, and her wealthy father had paid all the bills. I showed up in a tux, repeated some words, watched her slide a ring on my finger, put one on hers, and mostly stayed out of the way after that. Honestly, I didn’t feel much of anything, probably because I was doing my best to ignore the gut feeling telling me marrying Kimberly was a mistake.
She was a local television news reporter in San Diego, but she was hoping to move into broadcast journalism on a national level at one of the giant news networks. I figured she’d probably achieve it, since she was smart and articulate, beautiful in that TV personality sort of way with the shiny hair and the super white teeth, but beyond that, she was the most ambitious person I’d ever known, and when she wanted something, she went after it with everything she had. Including me. I had no idea why she’d wanted to get married so badly, but we’d only been dating for about six months when she started dropping hints.
I told her I’d never planned to get married. She liked that—a challenge.
I told her I didn’t want kids. She said she didn’t either—in fact, she said I should get a vasectomy before the wedding.
I reminded her how often I traveled for work, that I was only home about half the time. She said she was fine with that—it would make the nights I was home more special.
And she asked me if I really wanted to spend the rest of my life alone, an empty bed every night, a silent house. I had to admit there was something off-putting about that. The guys I’d known in the Navy were all married with families now. My co-workers all had wives and kids. Being the odd man out as I got older wasn’t all that appealing. At least if I got hitched, I’d have a plus-one. And honestly, her need to be the center of attention suited me. It kept conversations and eyes focused on her.
So I said okay. Bought the ring she’d picked out. Popped the question at the restaurant where she’d made a reservation. Tried not to grimace when the photographer she’d obviously hired approached and asked to take some photos, which showed up later on Kimberly’s social media, filtered to death and accompanied by hashtags like #DiamondsAreAGirlsBestFriend and #Blessed.
And I had the vasectomy.
The wedding was a monster affair that took her longer to plan than our actual marriage lasted. Which was mostly because she hit her thirty-fifth birthday and realized a few things, not the least of which was that she did want to be a mom, she hated how often I was gone, and when I was home, she said I neglected her emotional needs—I was too closed off.
Within months, she fell in love with a producer at the station, announced she was leaving me, and moved in with him. They were married now, and last I heard, she was pregnant.
And I was preparing to attend my grown son’s wedding, the memory of hot phone sex with his ex-girlfriend fresh on my mind. The woman I’d sworn to myself I wouldn’t touch. The one I’d promised Mason I hadn’t touched. The one I couldn’t stop thinking about touching again.
But I wouldn’t.
Last night had been a good time but a bad decision, a whiskey-influenced reaction to jumbled-up feelings—anger, guilt, loneliness. When my phone lit up with Millie’s message, I’d jumped at the chance to escape my reality and indulge in fantasy instead.
At least we hadn’t done anything in person. Was phone sex even technically sex? Generally, I was someone who saw things in black and white, but I felt there might be some room for interpretation there.
Still. It couldn’t happen again. No matter that she made me feel younger and more alive than I’d felt in years—she was off limits.
I frowned at myself in the bathroom mirror and straightened my tie. Readjusted the knot. Smoothed my lapels. Checked my zipper. I ran a hand over my beard, dismayed that there seemed to be more gray in it than I’d noticed yesterday. Picking up my hairbrush, I smoothed the hair back above my ears. After setting it down again, I studied my reflection and noticed the two furrows between my brows. They made me look old and tense. I tried to relax my facial muscles, but the lines remained.