Total pages in book: 143
Estimated words: 136743 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 684(@200wpm)___ 547(@250wpm)___ 456(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 136743 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 684(@200wpm)___ 547(@250wpm)___ 456(@300wpm)
“I’m not sure how I feel about being your revenge sex, Sol,” I tell her.
“You’re not. This was spurred by the realization that Edward gets what he wants, and I don’t, but reducing my story to revenge makes it about him. His betrayal was a catalyst, yeah. It was a spark that set fire to an unsatisfying existence. I had silenced the woman screaming inside of me so much, I didn’t even realize just how unsatisfied she was. I was. This life, this adventure I’m on—I’m orchestrating. Edward is a footnote written in afterthought ink.”
“What about self-partnering and dating yourself?”
“I’m still on a solo journey,” she says, her eyes meeting mine frankly. “That doesn’t mean I can’t have something that is strictly for my pleasure. For our pleasure, if you’ll accept my conditions.”
“Which are?”
“This is a one-time offer. If I want to do it again, I’ll ask you again.”
“And what if I want to do it again? Are you the only one who gets what they want out of this?”
“I thought you wanted me.”
“You know I do.”
“Then what’s the problem?”
What if I want more?
I don’t say it, but I know by the veil she pulls over her expression that my thought reverberates in the room all around us. It’s not what she wants tonight—to discuss the deeper waters we may wade into if we take this step. She’s fooling herself if she thinks anything we do together will stay shallow. She’s clinging to an illusion of control, and I think that’s what she needs to do after what Edward has put her through. It’s just an illusion, though. I know what control feels like. I’ve pursued it, insisted on it whenever I could. This is its opposite. This is free fall. It’s careening into a glorious unknown. It’s running full speed ahead into a burning promise.
It’s a risk, and not even a calculated one because how do I know Soledad will ever be ready for the kind of relationship I want with her? How long could I do this? Want her as a partner while she only wants to partner herself?
But she does want to fuck you.
It’s a dangerous whisper, one I try to ignore, but it scratches my ears and whirs inside my mind. Our fingers are still linked, and her head is bent. There’s tension to the slight curve of her shoulders, as if she’s braced for something.
Rejection?
After the day she’s had, that’s the last thing she needs from me. And maybe this is serendipitous. Before she arrived, wasn’t I thinking about how I’ve put everyone’s happiness ahead of my own? And I don’t resent that, but I’ve decided I want some happiness for myself.
And she may still be figuring out exactly what she wants, but I’m absolutely sure. I want a future with her. It would be complicated. I have a complex situation with my boys and an unconventional setup with my ex. Soledad has… all that shit Edward has done. Her daughters probably hate me and think I put their father in prison. There are obstacles, but with Soledad standing so close, warm and soft and willing and wanting me, none of them feels more important than this moment.
I capture her stare, searching for uncertainty or reluctance and finding none.
“You’re sure about this, Sol?” I ask because I have to be certain.
“I know what I want,” she says, the delicate line of her jaw tense and tight.
I take both her hands in mine and drop a kiss at her temple.
“Then let’s go upstairs.”
CHAPTER THIRTY-FOUR
SOLEDAD
Sometimes when I’m nervous, I say weird things.
“I reviewed a dupe for that comforter last week.”
Judah stands beside his bed with its slate-gray duvet and tilts his head to consider me. “What exactly is a dupe?”
“Oh, um… a duplicate. Like a cheaper version of the real thing.” A breathy laugh slips out. “It wasn’t as good as this one. You made the right choice.”
A smile cracks Judah’s serious expression, and he slides his hands into the pockets of his dark jeans. He’s wearing an MIT sweatshirt.
“MIT,” I prattle on. “Very prestigious.”
“So is Cornell.”
“True.” Excitement and nerves have apparently atrophied my brain. I gulp and lick dry lips.
Dry lips?
Oh, my God.
Where is my lip balm? I’m having sex with someone who is not Edward for the first time in nearly twenty years, and I have chapped lips.
“I think I left my purse downstairs,” I say, my voice emerging high and strained. “I need my lip balm… um… my purse. I’ll be right back.”
He grabs my hand before I reach the door and turns me to face him. He frames my face with big, gentle hands and dips to my height, holding my eyes with his. “We don’t have to do this.”
“What?” I cover his hands with mine, blinking at stupid tears. “But I want to.”