Total pages in book: 109
Estimated words: 106147 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 531(@200wpm)___ 425(@250wpm)___ 354(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 106147 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 531(@200wpm)___ 425(@250wpm)___ 354(@300wpm)
I shook my head. “Lay what on you?”
“Your woman troubles.”
“I can’t do that.”
“Sure you can. Sometimes it takes a stranger to give you perspective on what’s going on—unless you already know what the problem is.”
Honestly, I felt pretty desperate. But this woman seemed nice, and she’d clearly come here with different expectations for the night. I didn’t want to be a total downer and ruin her evening. “It’s fine, but thank you for the offer. I appreciate it.”
Margo drank some more of her cocktail, and then as I was finishing off my beer, she said, “I’m in love with a married man.”
I coughed the alcohol down the wrong pipe and spoke with a hoarse voice. “Come again?”
She smiled. “You heard me. He owns the gym I work at and two others.”
“Shit. Does he know?”
Margo wagged her finger back and forth. “Not so fast. If we’re not going to go home together and try to make each other forget, we’re going to share our secrets fair and square. What’s her name, at least?”
“Autumn.”
“Pretty name. Does she have red hair?”
I smiled. “She does. And green eyes.”
“Nice. Donald has blue eyes.” She nodded toward a table. “Wanna go sit and talk? I don’t know if it will help either of us, but I don’t have anything better to do.”
I laughed. “Sure. Why not?”
Margo and I talked for the next two and a half hours. It was a shame I was so consumed with a woman who had no interest in being with me, because I really liked Margo. She was smart and a straight shooter. Plus, yoga instructor. Her advice to me was to do the exact opposite of what I’d done with Autumn—not walk away. She suspected the same thing I did—that Autumn had been in a bad relationship and gotten burned or lost someone, which made her lose trust in men. So she suggested I show her I could be trusted by not giving up so easily.
I wasn’t entirely sure her approach was correct, but it had been nice to look at things from a woman’s perspective. Unfortunately, my advice to her wasn’t as thought provoking. I’d told her to find a new job and not look back. Donald liked the attention he was getting from her, but was never going to leave his wife—who was currently pregnant with their second child.
We walked back over to the bar so I could close out the tab. “Let me ask you something… Do you have a type?”
Margo smiled. “Apparently married, balding, and a jerk.”
I chuckled. “No, I meant, have you met Trent?”
Her brows shot up. “The short guy who’s really young?”
I smirked. “That’s the one.”
“Juliette introduced me to him earlier. I’ll be honest, he’s not the type I’d usually go for.” She smiled. “You, on the other hand…”
I nodded. “I get it. But give him a shot. He’s a great guy. He’s also thirty, even though he doesn’t look it. Someday that will be a good thing.”
She bit her lip in contemplation before smiling. “Okay. What the hell? I will.”
“Come on, I’ll hook you up talking to him on my way out.”
It was still early when I got home, only about ten o’clock. I took a quick shower and watered my plants—this time, without bitching at them. Maybe my talk with Margo had done me some good after all.
The entire week I’d been pissed off, but I suddenly felt a bit more relaxed. So I sat down, took out my phone, and scrolled to my photos, going straight to my favorites file and the one lonely picture in the folder. Autumn. I’d had no idea that twenty-four hours after taking it, the picture would be all I had to keep me from thinking the entire weekend had been a figment of my imagination.
And now it was a reminder that fate had brought her back to me.
Maybe Margo was right. Good things don’t come to people who walk away. They come to people who fight for what they want. It was what I’d done in school and in my career, and it had served me well, so why was I giving up so damn easily on something I knew in my gut wasn’t over?
The answer didn’t take long to come to me. I wasn’t.
Screw that.
Throwing in the towel wasn’t my style.
I was good for a full twelve rounds in a fight, so we had a long way to go.
With one last glimpse at the photo, I switched over to contacts and brought up the very first name. I’d have to tread lightly—there could be a fine line between letting a woman know you were going to wait her out and harassment. I needed to figure out how to handle it properly, but for now, I’d start with a simple text.
Donovan: I miss you.
CHAPTER 18
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