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)
“There’s one thing I’m not sure what to do about,” he says, his gaze intense and unwavering on my face.
Somehow I know he means me. Or this thing that’s been tugging me toward him since the second we met. And I’m not sure if there is anything to do about it. I need to focus on rebuilding a life for me and my girls from the ground up. I also need to rebuild me. A me who doesn’t need a man, stands on her own, and gets what she needs to survive, even if she has to make it herself.
“I better go,” he says again. “See you tomorrow.”
“Tomorrow, yeah.” I stand at the open door and watch him walk the driveway to his car, a black Audi Q8. Even after he pulls away, I can’t seem to drag myself from this spot.
“Um, at what point were you planning to mention the accountant is bae?” Hendrix asks behind me.
I smile, close the door, and turn to face my friends.
“You mean Judah?” I ask innocently.
“You mean Judah?” Yasmen imitates my lighter voice. “That man smolders. He fine as hell.”
“Do I need to remind you that you’re a married woman, Yas?” I laugh.
“Definitely not.” She smiles dreamily. “Josiah is it for me, but that doesn’t mean I can’t appreciate when a man like that enters the chat.”
“And he was eating you up with his eyes,” Hendrix says. “I never knew that was a real thing, but he needed a bib to look at you the way he did. Invisible drool everywhere.”
“That makes no sense,” I giggle. “I admit there’s an attraction, but the last thing I need to be thinking about right now is a man.”
“Since you don’t want him,” Hendrix says with a smirk, “tell him I like long walks on the beach and my safe word is Popeyes.”
Who said I don’t want him?
I shut that voice down because what kind of woman thinks about a man romantically in the middle of a DEFCON crisis? When she’s still married to a lying, cheating scumbag of a criminal?
A woman who hasn’t been touched with any real passion in months. Years? How long has it been since things felt right between Edward and me? Now I just want him out of my life, which leaves a void I probably shouldn’t fill with another man right away. I have other things to focus on.
I let my gaze wander the high ceilings and hardwood floors of my foyer, of the house that is my little castle in the world. CalPot may not be taking it, but if I don’t find a way to pay my mortgage, the bank will. Realistically, how long will my savings carry us? Maybe I should be frightened that for the first time everything will fall on me, but the prospect exhilarates me. My whole life is now DIY… or rather DIM. Do it myself because there’s no one else who will.
“So, Hen,” I say, linking one arm through Hendrix’s elbow and the other through Yasmen’s. “You said the seeds of an empire are right here in my house, right?”
“For damn sure.” Hendrix squeezes my arm reassuringly.
I split a smile between my two best friends. “Then let’s grow it.”
PART II
“I am out with lanterns looking for myself.”
—Emily Dickinson, personal correspondence
CHAPTER THIRTEEN
SOLEDAD
Eight Months Later
I needed this.” I release a pent-up breath and stretch out on the luxe white rug covering Hendrix’s living room floor. “A night out of my house where no one is calling me Mom or asking me for anything.”
“Honey, you just described my whole life.” Hendrix chuckles. “Welcome to Chez Single Bitch and Glad About It.”
When she passes me a drink, I prop myself up on my elbow to accept the glass with strawberries and lemons afloat in the slightly fizzy liquid. After one sip, I moan, bringing the glass back for another.
“Hen, this is incredible. What is it?”
“Strawberry-lemon prosecco sangria.” She settles on the sleek white couch that dominates her living room. “One of my clients made these at her birthday party last week. Love them so much, had to share.”
“Add this drink to the list of things I needed after the week I’ve had.” I scoot over and rest my back against the couch beside her legs, placing my glass on the coaster on the glass coffee table.
“That’s two of us.” She sets her drink down, too, crossing her legs in the blush-pink silk loungewear I’ve seen on several celebrity favorite things lists.
“You look like an ad for luxury lifestyle,” I tell her, resting my head on her knee.
“What can I say? I am the rich Black girl aesthetic.” She pats her braids, which are pulled into a casually elegant topknot. “Now catch me up on this hellacious week you’ve had.”
I let out a hollow laugh and reach for my drink again. “I’m too exhausted to even tell you how bad it is. You ever just get sick of hearing your own problems? Let’s talk about something else, like dinner. You got eggs? I could make that frittata you like.”