Total pages in book: 86
Estimated words: 78732 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 394(@200wpm)___ 315(@250wpm)___ 262(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 78732 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 394(@200wpm)___ 315(@250wpm)___ 262(@300wpm)
Rooster laughed like he knew what I was thinking when I excused myself and started to leave the conference room.
I didn't find her in the bedroom, and I spent ten minutes looking for her. It wasn't until I went to the basement and passed an open window, the sound of her laughter filling my ears, that I discovered where she was.
I have no idea why I feel like a raging bull stuck dead center among a room full of breakable things when I see her head thrown back, her smiling face looking up at the stars, as she laughs at some fucking thing Bandera has said to her.
She's not in the pool, but that didn't stop him from jumping in and resting his muscular arms on the edge as they spoke.
I haven't felt jealousy like I feel right now in a very long time, since middle school if memory serves me correctly, but the girl in question is my wife, not the head cheerleader who wouldn't give me the time of day.
A million questions eat away at me as I open the basement door and step outside, but the one that keeps ringing in my ears as I approach them is if I even have a right to be angry in the first place. Our marriage isn't real. Our vows weren't real. Is she the type of person who would see the fake commitment as something that should prevent her from flirting with someone else? Is she even flirting with him?
"Speak of the devil," Bandera says, his smile unfazed as I walk up to them.
"I'm dying to know what you've been saying about me," I mutter, not missing when the two of them look at each other as if co-conspirators in a plan for world domination or something.
I hate the ease and camaraderie they already seem to have with each other, especially considering that the woman hated me on sight. I'm not a hundred percent sure that she still doesn't.
She smiles at me, not a hint of guilt in her eyes, but that could easily mean she doesn't see what she's doing as wrong.
"Do you not like to swim?" I ask, pointing to the water instead of raging like a jealous husband.
"She doesn't have a suit," Bandera answers for her. "Already asked, but now that you're here, she may be more amenable to skinny dipping."
"Excuse me?" I snap, my eyes glaring in his direction.
The man doesn't even bother to look surprised by my reaction.
"I suggested her bra and panties, but—"
Kaylee laughs like he has told the funniest joke.
"That's all she does," Bandera says, pointing at her.
I continue to glare at my teammate, all the while wondering if I could drown the man and make it look like an accident.
All he does is smile wider as if he's proven some sort of point. I want to ask him to share with the class, but I get the feeling I wouldn't like anything that comes out of his mouth right now.
As if I were invited, I take a seat right beside her, wondering how long she'll last sitting on the bench with our thighs touching.
"I guess I'll give you newlyweds some time alone," Bandera says, lifting himself up out of the pool as if scaling a damn wall is an everyday occurrence for him.
Instead of watching him, I turn my attention to her. Instead of finding her staring at him and drooling, she's looking right at me.
I give myself a moment to let my eyes wander over every inch of her face.
"What happened here?" I ask, lifting my hand, and letting one finger brush over the tiny scar below her bottom lip.
For a split second, her mouth hangs open, her breath loud as it rushes past her lips.
"I fell when I was little. Bit right through my lip. I had eight stitches. Four inside my mouth and four outside."
"Sounds painful," I say, pulling my hand away and letting it drop into my lap.
"I don't remember it happening. I only remember the story being told to me as a child. My grandmother was watching me. I was running through the house, not heeding her warning that it was dangerous. Even though it was my fault, she apologized every time we went to visit her."
"She must've felt terrible that you got hurt under her supervision."
"She was a wonderful woman," Kaylee says, her voice marked with sadness. "She was my biggest fan."
"I'm sorry for your loss," I say after noticing her use of past-tense words.
"It happens, right?" she says with a sad smile. "Are you or were you close to your grandparents?"
I pull in a deep breath. She's opening a can of worms with these questions. As much as I want to lay my entire life out at her feet, we aren't exactly in a position to share family histories.