Total pages in book: 97
Estimated words: 89840 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 449(@200wpm)___ 359(@250wpm)___ 299(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 89840 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 449(@200wpm)___ 359(@250wpm)___ 299(@300wpm)
I focused on Dom again. “So why did you really leave your number behind?” I asked.
“For this moment,” he answered. “To see you.”
“Are you sure it wasn’t because you felt bad that I was your waitress? Thank you for the generous tip, by the way.”
He chuckled. “It’s not because I felt bad.” A pause. “Would you like the truth?”
“Please.”
“It’s just that when we stopped talking, I didn’t think I’d ever see you again, but when I did, I wanted to make sure it wouldn’t be the last time.”
“Aww.” I looked into his eyes, as he studied his now empty glass.
“I know. Sappy, right?”
“Not sappy. Really cute,” I said. And romantic.
The waitress returned with our drinks, and I took a large sip of mine. It was perfectly sweet and fruity. A man with a cape walked through the lounge with white gloves on his hands. I realized he was a magician, based off the oversized top hat on his head and the cape on his back. There were always people like him around—folks who pretended to know magic or read minds, or what have you. The magician stopped at our table, holding a deck of cards.
“Pick a card,” the man said, holding the deck toward Dom.
Dom quickly waved a dismissive hand and said, “No, thank you.”
“Aw, come on! It’ll be a quick little trick!” the magician boasted.
“I don’t like tricks,” Dom said with more ice in his voice. I couldn’t help frowning, and Dominic cut his eyes at me before focusing on the magician again, clearing his throat, and saying, “But thanks.”
“Suit yourself.” The magician walked off, and I’m pretty sure he’d whispered the word “jerk” under his breath.
“What was that about?” I asked.
Dom’s head shook. “Nothing. I just don’t like magicians or people who believe in magic or do all that witchy stuff. It’s silly.”
I shrugged. I didn’t believe in magic or anything either, but it did serve as good entertainment.
“Did I ever tell you my mom was overly superstitious?” he asked. I nodded. I remembered him constantly talking about it in high school, and now he was bringing it up again. I felt bad about his mom—she died when he was seventeen and it changed his life. He would never tell me the details, but he often said someone was hunting her and wanting to kill her—at least, that’s what his mom told him.
“I remember fragments of it, yes,” I said.
“There was one time when I was about thirteen or fourteen, I think. She’d found a dead crow in our backyard and went hysterical, Brynn. Swore up and down we were cursed—hexed, even. She said it was proof she was being stalked and hunted by whoever had taken her.”
“Your poor mom,” I murmured. “You have to chalk that up to her abduction, though. Right? Everyone talked about that for months—how she was taken then brought back?”
The story about Beretta Baker had been all over the news for weeks. Though I hadn’t met Dominic yet, I recalled my mom watching the story unfold from the kitchen. She’d burnt my toast one day because she was too busy watching the news. When Dominic’s mom returned, she claimed she’d been taken by a religious cult. And apparently that cult “performed spells” on her, used her blood in potions, then sent her back into the real world. I remember thinking maybe those people were treating her like an experiment. They wanted to see how she’d do in the world after pouring all of their witchery into her, but she didn’t last long. According to the reports, she’d hung herself and Dominic was the one who found the body.
“Yeah.” His throat bobbed and his eyes saddened. I wanted to hug him, but it would’ve been inappropriate. “Sometimes I feel like it was true—the things she said. Her hallucinations were real to her.”
“Perhaps they were,” I murmured. And we were interrupted by the waitress again, who brought back a bowl of truffle fries I’d ordered. That was the end of talk about his mother.
The night progressed, the singing lady swapped for a male singer in a sharp tuxedo, and despite how great the music was, our focus was on each other. No more talk about superstitions or abducted mothers. Just us.
I leaned in closer to him, inhaling his cologne, loving the way his teeth glittered in the light, the way my heart raced when he threw his head back to laugh. His throat was so . . . manly. I yearned to kiss it, lick it, suck on it.
But then I remembered . . .
My eyes fell to the ring on his finger, and I’d had my third or so drink by then, so the next question flew off my tongue. “Why would you want to spend time with me if you’re married?”
The smile that was on Dominic’s face disappeared, his eyes more serious. For a second, I wanted to tell him never mind, that he didn’t have to answer that question.