Total pages in book: 102
Estimated words: 95173 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 476(@200wpm)___ 381(@250wpm)___ 317(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 95173 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 476(@200wpm)___ 381(@250wpm)___ 317(@300wpm)
Me: Do you want me to bring you something specific, or do you want to come to my place? I’m good with either.
This time, the bubble comes up, and then it beeps.
Vivienne: I don’t want either, and I’m not meeting you anywhere.
God, I missed her. I smile to myself as I finally start to breathe easier knowing that I’ll see her tonight. It doesn’t mean anything, but just knowing I get to see her is everything.
Me: Your place it is. See you at seven. I’ll bring Elsa.
She sends me five texts in a row.
Vivienne: I’m not home.
Vivienne: Don’t come over.
Vivienne: I won’t be home.
Vivienne: There is nothing to talk about.
Vivienne: Merde.
I don’t answer her. Instead, I get home and dump my bag, and I actually grab the fishbowl and walk out toward the car. I stop at Starbucks on my way to her house, and the doorman smiles when he sees me. “Hey, Mr. Dimitris, long time, no see.”
“Yeah,” I say, grabbing the fish in one hand and the tray of coffee and tea in the other hand. “Season’s started.” I walk into the lobby, and when the elevator door opens, I am so nervous. But the minute I knock on the door, I hear her heels clicking on the floor and then she swings open the door. Her hair flies with the wind of the door opening, and I know at that moment that I’m never going to let her go. That no matter how I have to fight, it’ll be worth it. I smile big at her, not even noticing that she looks like she’s going out. “Hey,” I say, walking in, and she closes the door behind me.
“Mark, this isn’t a good time,” she says, and I turn to look at her. She’s wearing black leather pants with a cream-colored turtleneck that is tucked in and leopard high-heel booties.
“You look nice. Were you going out?” I ask her and act like it’s not killing me, but it is.
“I am,” she says, and I can’t tell if she’s bluffing.
“Well, I won’t keep you long,” I tell her and then hand her the tray of coffee and tea. She walks over and grabs the tray from me. “Have a hot date?” I ask her, and she just walks down the corridor to the kitchen, the same kitchen we had sex in. She places the coffee on the counter and then turns to look at me.
“I have a date in twenty minutes, so you have five minutes,” she says, and she crosses her arms over her chest. I have to wonder if I’m doing all this for nothing.
Chapter Twenty-Five
Vivienne
My plan was to get all dressed up and look fabulous, then lie about a date, and it was going perfectly. Wearing my best pants shows all my curves, and the lace bra under my cashmere top pushed the girls up. It was almost like I was gearing up for war, and then the knock came on the door, and I braced myself. Except nothing could have prepared me for when I pulled opened the door and there he stood. Wearing blue jeans and a black jacket, his hair brushed back and you could see how he ran his fingers through it. But nothing got me more than him holding that fucking fishbowl.
I tried to make it seem like I didn’t care. I grab the tray of coffee and turn to walk down the corridor, not letting him see that my hands are shaking.
“I have a date in twenty minutes, so you have five minutes,” I tell him, putting the coffee on the counter and then crossing my arms.
He smiles at me and puts the fish down now, leaning back on the counter to face me. “You didn’t text me back,” he says, and I look at his hands, the hands that brought me more pleasure that I would ever acknowledge.
“There was nothing to say.” I look into his eyes, and it’s the wrong thing to do. The minute he sent me the text, my hands got so sweaty, I almost dropped the phone. I ignored it, but I would look at my phone every second to see if he texted me back. When he finally said he was coming over, I knew I had no choice but to answer him. I thought by answering him, he would go away, but he didn’t.
“I think there are a couple of things to say,” he says softly, and I just look at him. “Take for example us running in the same circle.”
“We don’t run in the same circle,” I point out. “I go to hockey games, and you play hockey.”
“Do we ignore each other when we are in the same room?” he asks me, and my stomach drops. I wasn’t planning on ever being in a room with him. “Or do we just pretend that we haven’t seen each other naked?”