Total pages in book: 46
Estimated words: 44725 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 224(@200wpm)___ 179(@250wpm)___ 149(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 44725 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 224(@200wpm)___ 179(@250wpm)___ 149(@300wpm)
I can guess what happened and why he stopped responding to me. He was trying to be nice. Then he read over the conversation and realized he might’ve given me the wrong idea. His friendly messages could seem like flirting, so he decided to back off to leave my thoughts to spiral and flurry and become borderline unbearable. No, nope, no way. I’m not letting myself get morbid about this.
Mom’s sitting on the couch when I get home. I sit on the armchair and glance over at her. There’s no benefit to dragging this up again, especially since I haven’t mentioned it in a long time, but Natasha’s words won’t leave me alone.
“Is something on your mind?” Mom asks.
I could tell her no and dance away from this topic. “Well,” I say cautiously, “I was just thinking about you and Jaxson.”
Mom sits up. When she frowns, her sharp cheekbones cut the light, and her eyes narrow. “Okay…”
“I guess I was wondering what exactly happened between you two. You didn’t seem very happy that he came by to help with the Axel situation.”
Mom stands, shaking her head. “I’m sorry, but I don’t want to talk about this, and I’m running late.”
“Late for what?”
“I promised one of the ladies from work I’d meet her for a few drinks. I need to get ready.”
She almost runs to her room, refusing to look at me, doing nothing for the doubt and the guilt flaring up in me. It’s like an infection that won’t quit, so imagine how much worse it would be if Jaxson and I actually did something. Mom doesn’t want to talk about it. Is that because something happened?
I go into my bedroom, sit at my desk, place my cell phone down, and stare at it.
Three days since the last messages when I asked him if he really believes any man would be lucky to have me… and nothing in response. He’s left me hanging.
I claw at the desk as if attacking it, two images clashing in my thoughts. There’s a completely crazy one of Jaxson sitting at a sunlit window, a child in his arms, smiling up at me as I enter the room… causing my chest to pound heavily with warmth as I take in the sight of the father of my child holding our baby.
What. The. Hell?
Then there’s another image, just as insane—Mom and Jaxson kissing and holding each other.
I pick up my phone, getting ready to compose a new message. It’s not fair for him to message me so much and then go dark with no explanation without stopping to think about how it would make me feel. Maybe that’s why I send the text and try to start an argument to release some pressure.
What happened between you and my mom? I just asked her, and she won’t say anything about it. She got all shifty, but I think it’s fair that I know. I remember the drama when I was a kid and how you stopped coming by. Nobody will tell me what happened.
I send the message, then watch as the status changes from delivered to read almost instantly. Three dots appear, telling me he’s writing a message. Then they disappear and appear again.
A cynical thought strikes me. He’s thinking of the best lie to tell.
CHAPTER 6
Jaxson
Three days since I last texted Zoey, and each day has been more difficult than the last. I’m barely holding on, finding it difficult to drag the words out of me and focus on the basics. Working out has become a challenge—not just physical and mental—in pushing myself through the pain. Now, the straining of my muscles makes me think of Zoey, defending her, grabbing her luscious hips, and shamelessly sinking my hands in.
I’m sitting in my office, the word processor mocking me, with my cell phone on the desk in front of my keyboard. She wants to know what happened between her mom and me. I can’t tell her the truth, but I can tell a truth.
It’s not my place, Zoey, I reply. When your mom’s ready, she’ll talk to you about it. I can’t do it for her.
Wow, you replied. I thought you were ghosting me.
I smirk, feeling more purposeful than I have in days since our last text. A rush of meaning floods me, and I suddenly know why I’ve felt so deflated lately. I knew anyway, but this confirms it. It’s Zoey. Talking with her, giving into thoughts of the future, and ignoring the impossibility.
I knew if I kept texting you, I would lose control.
I delete the message.
You’re too captivating. You’re making me obsessed.
Again, I delete it.
Thankfully, she sends another message, a follow-up to her sass.
I’m sorry. I know you’re probably really busy.
Normally, I disappear into the writing process and don’t emerge until I’ve done what I said I’d do. However, these past three days have been far slower than usual, with all my ideas and outpouring of words dominated by Zoey. Every part of me is dedicated to her, obsessed and enthralled by her.