Total pages in book: 65
Estimated words: 61758 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 309(@200wpm)___ 247(@250wpm)___ 206(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 61758 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 309(@200wpm)___ 247(@250wpm)___ 206(@300wpm)
She’s brazen, which means she’s not afraid of being rejected. Still, I try to let her down politely. “I prefer my own company, but thanks for the invitation.”
“You do?” She raises a brow. “No one prefers their own company on a Friday night. Everyone goes out to party.”
The waitress arrives with my beer and a menu. She gives me an apologetic smile as she leaves the beer on the table and hands the menu to the brunette.
I pull my beer closer and wait until the waitress has scurried away. “Then I guess I’m not everyone.”
“No party?” The woman sits down opposite me. “You’re in luck. A friend is throwing a get-together at home after midnight. There’s a pool and always lots of booze. You can be my plus-one.”
I take a sip of the beer, studying her as I swallow. “Do you always invite strangers to your friend’s house?”
“No.” She rests her chin on her palm and smiles at me. “You’re the exception.”
“You shouldn’t,” I say, taking another swig from the bottle. “I may be a killer or a dangerous criminal.”
She laughs. “Funny.”
Not so much.
“Look,” she says, opening the menu. “Since I have to eat, I’m just going to sit here quietly and have a meal.”
My voice is flat. “No, you’re not.”
Her confidence wavers at my tone, her forehead pleating, but then her bright smile reappears. “You can ignore me. You won’t even know I’m here. As you can see, all the other tables are taken.”
Bullshit. She can eat at the bar.
I point at the window through which a blond woman with fake tits is visible. From a glance, it’s clear she’s working the street. A car pulls up at the traffic light. She bends down, showing a good portion of ass as she leans in the open window.
“See that?” I ask.
The brunette blinks as she follows the direction of my finger. “What? The blonde?”
“That’s more my style.” And I don’t mean the color of her hair or the shape of her figure. My style has more to do with habit than preferences.
My self-invited guest’s nostrils flare as she looks back at me. “You’d rather hook up with a whore?”
“Sex worker. And no. As a matter of fact, I’m taken.”
She jumps to her feet. “You could’ve just said so from the start.”
“You could’ve just listened.”
Yanking her bag from the seat, she throws the sling over her shoulder. “You’re a dick.”
“Most probably.”
“Good luck to the woman who got stuck with you. I bet dating you sucks.”
“It’s marrying, not dating,” I drawl. “And yeah. I guess it sucks.”
Uttering a sound of frustration, she spins on her heel and marches to the bar.
I never would’ve taken her up on the offer, not even in a different life. She doesn’t spark a flicker of interest in me. In my old life, I may have walked outside and offered the blonde a deal, but this is my new life, and I will be faithful.
CHAPTER 6
Violet
The scratchy sound of my pencil on the paper is music to my ears. Drawing calms me. It’s what I love most in the world. Since it’s Saturday and I’m not working, I have the whole evening to sketch. My weekends unroll with a steadfast and predictable routine. After sleeping in and eating a late brunch, I close myself in my bedroom with my pencils and watercolors.
From my desk that’s pushed against the window, I have a view of the oak tree in the back yard. The late afternoon sun lights up the leaves, making them glow. The enormous tree with its branches reaching like arms toward the sky is my favorite part of the garden. When I was young, I daydreamed about climbing up the trunk and exploring the branches behind the curtain of acorns and leaves. I always envied the kids in the park who could climb trees.
Turning my attention back to my drawing, I use the branches as inspiration for the tentacles of the giant space octopus. The tip of one curls around the ankle of the naked woman tied to the deck of the spaceship. The charcoal pencil flies over the paper as I outline the shapes. Later, I’ll fill them with vibrant watercolors. My space odyssey sketches are my secret escape. Together, the pictures form a story. Sometimes, I combine them in hand-drawn comic books. They’re a little creepy and overly sexual. If anyone in the family finds out about my hobby, there’ll be hell to pay. Gus likes to pretend we’re a respectable family.
I’m smudging the pencil strokes with a finger to add shadows when my door opens. Slamming the cover of the drawing book shut, I swivel my chair toward the door. My mom stands on the threshold, wearing a pretty summer dress and her long hair in a high ponytail. The style makes her look impossibly young, more like my age than her forty-four years.