Total pages in book: 141
Estimated words: 143382 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 717(@200wpm)___ 574(@250wpm)___ 478(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 143382 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 717(@200wpm)___ 574(@250wpm)___ 478(@300wpm)
“Yes. What did Arthur say?”
“Wow. You’re still at Eric’s?”
I loved her, but…
“Yes! Luna, tell me what Arthur said.”
She shook off her nosiness and stated, “We need a confab. Like…immediately.”
“Just tell me what he said.”
“Honestly, Jess, you need to come home. This needs to be face-to-face.”
It felt like my throat closed so I had to shove out, “I’ll be home in a few.”
“Come to mine. See you then.”
We hung up, and I raced down the hall, into Eric’s room and then his bathroom.
It hadn’t occurred to me I should give him a head’s up I was coming in. At that juncture, nothing was occurring to me, except getting home and hearing what Arthur had to say then connecting with Katelyn.
But a lot occurred to me when I saw Eric in nothing but a dark gray towel, leaning over his sink, shaving.
His eyes came to me.
My eyes went to his chest.
Holy, mother of—
“Jessie, what is it?” he asked.
I tore my eyes from his ridiculously gorgeous, perfectly hairy chest and said, “First, remember when I told you over pizza last night that I thought one of Jeff’s friends knew something about Jeff?”
Some shave cream still on his face (hot), he straightened to me and nodded.
“Well, Joshua’s wife called and texted. I was right. Jeff’s been in touch. And whatever else they have to tell me, she said was too much for voicemail, so I have to call.”
“Did you call?”
I was swaying side to side on my feet, anxious on the whole, mostly anxious to get to Luna.
“No, because Luna left a text saying Arthur had been in contact, and so I called her, and she said whatever Arthur had to say I had to hear face to face.”
“Arthur?”
“He’s our Charlie.”
“Charlie?”
I was losing it, so my voice pitched high when I explained, “As in…Angels.”
“Right,” he murmured.
“I’ve gotta go.”
“Hang tight, I’m driving you.”
“Eric—”
He moved to me, caught me behind my neck, pulled me to his bare chest (oh my God, why did this happen when I didn’t have either the time or headspace to enjoy it?), and said, “You’re in a state. You’re not driving in this state. I’ll be five minutes, tops. Swear. Go get your shoes on.”
I nodded.
He touched his mouth to mine, swiped off the lather he left there, then let me go and went back to the sink.
I hustled down his long-ass hall to my shoes, and I was standing in them with my bag across my body when I discovered Eric didn’t lie.
In less than five minutes, he was walking down the hall toward me.
His hair was wet, but curling. His face was shaved. And he had on a faded Foo Fighter tee, equally faded jeans and running shoes, and he didn’t waste any time grabbing my hand and tugging me to the door to the garage.
He led me to the passenger side of his humongous, spiffy blue Tahoe and spotted me getting up.
He slammed my door, crossed the hood, angled in and hit the garage door opener.
It took some maneuvering, but he skirted my Mini as he backed out.
And we were on our way.
TEN
ONE OF THEM
To say the ride to the Oasis was tense was an understatement.
And all the tension was coming from me.
There was so much of it, Eric couldn’t miss it.
And he didn’t.
I knew this when he grabbed my hand, squeezed it tight and held it to his thigh.
I wasn’t a virgin (far from it), and I wasn’t inexperienced with relationships.
I’d even had two long-term ones.
One lasted a year, then the guy moved to Michigan for a job. He’d asked me to come. But as a native Phoenician, no way in hell I was headed to cold and snow six months of the year, humidity the other six.
So that told us both how I felt about him down deep.
The other one was the biggie.
Braydon.
We were together for nearly four years and lived together for over two.
Then one day, he came home, and he’d been acting weird for a while, so I was sure he was going to propose.
And I was going to say yes.
He didn’t.
He sat me down and shared that my having no ambition, other than to be a kickass mixologist, troubled him. He then confessed he’d been waiting for me to change my mind and exhibit some kind of loftier life goal. But he’d learned that wasn’t going to happen, and even though he felt deeply for me, he couldn’t waste any more time with a woman like me.
I’d been destroyed.
I’d loved him. Saw a future with him. Wanted to have his kids. And I didn’t see his betrayal to who I was—the woman he’d spent four years with—coming.
No, I thought he was going to produce a ring.
In other words, he’d totally blindsided me.
It would take a long time for me to understand he was a snob. That his issue with me had no teeth.