Total pages in book: 225
Estimated words: 218500 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 1093(@200wpm)___ 874(@250wpm)___ 728(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 218500 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 1093(@200wpm)___ 874(@250wpm)___ 728(@300wpm)
My heartbeat thuds in my ears as I storm down the hall in search of his laundry machines. I whip open the first door opposite his bedroom door. It’s a guest room. A bed and a desk plus a weight bench. Of course. He didn’t need to join my fucking gym. I slam the door. Beside it is an opened bathroom. No laundry machines. I slam that, too. Beside the door to his bedroom, there’s a linen closet and then across from it, another room. Bingo. Stacked washer and dryer, utility sink, counter. The dryer has twelve minutes to go. I open the door and feel my clothes. My jeans are still too damp. Shit! I close it and press start.
I close the door to the room while I’m still in it and lean against it, blowing flyaway hairs out of my eyes.
Tears come. Of course they do. Whenever I get extremely frustrated, first I get mad, then I’m angry and crying. That’s how it goes when things hit a level of extreme for me.
I’m horrified. Humiliated. I can’t believe this.
The things Alannah said at the bar... who wouldn’t think I was low-hanging fruit after hearing all that, right? And really, what does it matter? I’ve used the hall pass and it wasn’t a total waste because I got a night of kinky sex because he pretty much got a wish list of the sort of sex I like by her crude comments. He just had to run into me a couple times to convince me to use that hall pass on him. No wonder he didn’t want to talk last night before all this. He knew exactly what he was doing. He knew just how this was going to go. He knew we’d get to the end, and I’d tell him this was a one-off. No consequences for his actions.
I’m not sure why he even admitted that he overheard all that. He could’ve let me say my little speech about this being a one-time thing and let me leave. We could’ve been cordial if we ran into one another again in the donut shop or at the gym.
Why didn’t he keep what he knew to himself? I don’t get it. Why let me feel humiliated like this? Is it funny to him?
And now I’m hiding in his laundry room, wearing his shirt, feeling as if I’ve been gutted.
I’m very sure of one thing – I am not cut out for this. For hookups, for hall passes. This isn’t who I am… I can’t separate feelings from sex. I know I can’t.
I shouldn’t have been this stupid.
Eleven minutes. Damn it. Hurry up!
Mr. Hall Pass is knocking on the door.
Shit, I do not want to face him, especially not like this. I try to dash the tears away with his shirtsleeves.
I guess I have to face him, since I’m in his apartment.
“Chloe, I’m coming in.”
I’ve still got my back against the door. Before I can move, he’s opening it and it opens out into the hallway, so I stumble backwards. He catches me and as I try to shrug him away, he hangs on firmly, so I squeeze my eyes tight and cover them with my hands. He’s got both arms wrapped around me, my back to his front. While I don’t want to let this guy see me cry, I can’t help it. I’ve deteriorated into ugly-crying. And he’s gripping me like he wants to offer me comfort. As if.
“Don’t be embarrassed.” He squeezes me and kisses the side of my head.
“It doesn’t matter,” I say. “Because it was a one-off. You never have to see me again if you avoid the soup place and the gym.”
I try to break free, but his grip tightens.
“Can you let go?”
He doesn’t let go.
“I like soup,” he says softly.
“Fine. You can have Tuesdays, Thursdays, and Saturdays. I’ll take Monday, Wednesday, Friday. Same with the gym. Though you probably don’t need the gym since you have equipment here. Let me go.”
“What about Sundays?”
“Not funny.” I try to move away but his grip tightens.
“I was fascinated by you,” he says. “I don’t know that I can articulate just how much. At how much you do for someone who doesn’t appreciate it. How easy it would be for him to take five minutes out of his day to make you happy. Ten to make you ecstatic.”
“Don’t,” I plead brokenly.
“You deserve more than what he’s giving you.”
“It’s not his f-fault. You don’t know him. You don’t know me. Let go of me.”
“I wanted to give you what he should’ve given you. I wanted to give you more. Give you everything you deserve.”
“Let go.”
“You need space right now, so I’m gonna give you some. What I will say first is that what I wanted most last night was to give you the night of your life. And baby, it was the night of my life, too.”