Total pages in book: 85
Estimated words: 78407 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 392(@200wpm)___ 314(@250wpm)___ 261(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 78407 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 392(@200wpm)___ 314(@250wpm)___ 261(@300wpm)
“I just got in the water, give me a second,” I said, stalling for more time.
Preston shot me a helpless grin. “Sorry.” Although his tone said he wasn’t. “You put on a bikini. How am I supposed to keep my hands to myself?”
Six months ago, I would have found his comment playful and charming. Today, it turned me off.
He leaned back in the water, floating near me, and his brown eyes looked richer with the water reflecting in them. He was cute when we’d first started dating, and he’d since filled out as he grew into a man. Like his father, he was handsome. Preston’s hair was short on the sides and long on top, and lighter in color than his dad’s.
My stomach hurt with worry as I watched him glide through the water, carefree. He had no idea I was about to drop a bomb.
“Hey,” I started, my voice already wavering. “We need to talk.”
The patio door opened with a noisy slide, drawing our attention. Dr. Lowe stepped outside, carrying a pitcher in one hand and two plastic cups in the other.
Preston grinned widely, and he asked his dad teasingly, like it was some joke I wasn’t in on, “What’s that?”
“Fresh lemonade,” Dr. Lowe answered quickly. Too quickly.
Preston laughed. “Poor Judy. Maybe I should go over there and tell her you hate the taste of lemon. She could make those cookies again. Or the brownies. Those were awesome.”
I wrinkled my forehead in confusion. Preston swam close and circled me in his arms.
“Our next-door neighbor got divorced, and now she wants my dad. Bad. Up until today, she’s been trying to seduce him with baked goods.” He squeezed tight, and it felt constricting. “Hey. How come you don’t bake stuff for me anymore?”
“Probably because I’m busy and we hardly see each other?” My tone was more pointed than I’d meant for it to be.
Dr. Lowe walked toward the glass table perched under the umbrella and set the pitcher and cups down. “Well, enjoy.”
“You think she roofied it?” His son said it as a joke, but Dr. Lowe’s gaze narrowed suspiciously at the pitcher.
“I’m sure it’s safe,” he said, then disappeared back into the house.
“What a glowing endorsement,” Preston joked.
Under the water, his hands began to wander, playing with the strings at my hips. I squirmed away, but he didn’t get the message, and my irritation reached critical mass.
“I didn’t come over to have sex with you.”
He shot me a confused look. “Then, why did you?”
Oh my God.
His simple question broke the last piece of my heart. He couldn’t see any other reason I’d want to be here? I wasn’t his friend anymore—I was just someone to stick his dick in. The realization was incredibly hurtful, and tears sprang into my eyes. My voice went shallow. “Preston, I can’t do this anymore. It’s over.”
“What?” He went wooden, his shoulders snapping stiff. But judging by his reaction, he’d heard me loud and clear.
“You’ve changed. We’re different people now.”
His shocked expression was frozen on his face. It was painfully tense, and the only sound was the water quietly lapping at the edge of the pool. That was, until the sliding patio door rang out a second time.
“Not now,” he growled at his father.
It didn’t slow Dr. Lowe down. He had a cordless telephone in his hand. “It’s your boss. He says you’re not answering your cell.”
“Fuck,” Preston muttered as he swam to the edge of the pool. “My battery ran down.” He stretched up a hand and took the receiver. “Hello?”
He paused, listening to the other side, and contorted his face with an annoyed look.
“No, I’m not coming in today. I don’t work again until Wednesday.”
My gaze locked onto Dr. Lowe’s, and the thought seemed to hit us at the same time. Today was Wednesday.
“Shit,” Preston said into the phone, scrambling toward the steps. “Yeah, of course. I’m so sorry. I’ll be there in fifteen minutes.”
He flew up the stairs and out of the pool, dropping the phone on the chair cushion and grabbing the towel there. My towel, because he’d forgotten to bring one out.
“I gotta go,” he said, scrubbing the water off his skin. No idea if he was talking to me or his father. “I’m already late.”
Dr. Lowe crossed his arms over his broad chest, visibly displeased, and Preston noticed.
“Yeah, I know,” he said, banding the towel around his hips and hurrying toward the patio door. “I screwed up. Sorry.”
Again, no idea who this apology was directed at. I was glad to be in the cool water at that moment, because my blood boiled. He didn’t give a thought to staying and talking. He didn’t say anything to me—including goodbye. As he ducked into the house, I was left floating both physically and emotionally.
My frustration got the better of me. “How did he not know it was Wednesday?”