Total pages in book: 86
Estimated words: 81009 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 405(@200wpm)___ 324(@250wpm)___ 270(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 81009 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 405(@200wpm)___ 324(@250wpm)___ 270(@300wpm)
My gaze flew back up to meet his.
“You pierced your tongue,” were the first words I blurted to him since he’d come to my dorm room and ended things with me.
I’d been ready to throw things and hit him the moment I saw him after what I caught him doing with that blonde. But he didn’t apologize. He had also made me wait three days before even showing up. It was as if he hadn’t cared at all.
Our last words to each other still echoed in my head.
“You’ll thank me one day,” he said.
“Fuck you, Rome Bower,” I sobbed, then slapped his face before slamming the door.
He never came back. He never called. He never answered my calls.
I’d even left a message at the garage he worked at, saying that I was leaving, that I’d gotten a scholarship for Rhode Island College of Art and Design, starting in the fall. Being the pathetic, lost, and broken little girl I was, I wanted to give him my new address. He never wrote, or showed up. Eventually, I’d stopped waiting for him.
“You got old,” he replied.
Just that easily, I felt like the woman I had seen in the mirror. Eamon’s words were no longer powerful enough to make me see what he had. I wished it didn’t hurt, but Rome might as well have slapped me in the face.
This was nothing like the times I’d imagined it. He wasn’t struck with regret and longing for the girl he’d let go. I wasn’t his one who had gotten away, like I’d always wanted to think. It seemed his words rang true all these years later.
“You’ll thank me one day.”
It was clear he was thankful. Instead of me, he had a gorgeous younger female draped on his lap tonight.
She fit him. I did not. We had grown into two different people. Like daylight and dark.
I cleared my throat, having no witty comeback to his truthful response. He had never been one to hold back. He’d always been blunt.
“That happens,” I replied, then shifted my attention to look out into the bar and toward the booth I’d been using. “I need to go pay my tab. Have a nice evening.”
The words sounded so awkward, considering the circumstances of us. It was odd to see the person you’d once loved with every fiber of your being, only to find they were only someone you used to know.
I did my best to smile before walking past him. I’d break into a run if it wouldn’t cause a scene.
“That’s it?” His husky voice, which had once brought bursts of joy inside me, caused me to pause. “Eighteen fucking years, darlin’, and you’re just gonna tell me that I pierced my tongue?”
I closed my eyes and inhaled slowly, then let it out. I was an adult, not the silly girl who had worshipped him from the first moment he’d sauntered into his mother’s house. Nope. Not anymore. I could do this.
Turning back to him, I smiled and shrugged. “Wasn’t sure how to follow up your comment,” I replied, reaching up to tuck some hair behind my ear nervously.
I was trying not to fidget, but being under his scrutiny made that hard. He’d already said what he thought about how I looked now. I didn’t need him continuing to search out all the ways I had changed.
He smirked and rubbed his chin as he ducked his head like he was trying to keep from laughing. At me? If he laughed at me, I’d run. Bolt out of here. Never to return from the humiliation.
GOD! Why? Why did I care? I shouldn’t give a shit.
He lifted his eyes back to look at me through his dark lashes that were too long to belong on a man. They outlined his striking eyes, making him even more attractive. As if his firm jawline, straight nose, almost-too-wide mouth weren’t enough of a lethal combination.
“Why ya here?” he asked. “In Miami.”
I swallowed hard, then licked my suddenly dry lips. “Job interview.”
He tilted his head to the left just a small fraction of an inch. “Here?” he asked. “Figured you’d live the rest of your life up there with the Yankee you married.”
He knew I’d gotten married? How? It didn’t matter. I wasn’t discussing Eamon with him. And Eamon wasn’t a Yankee. He was Irish.
I’d never been able to tell Eamon about Rome. He had known I’d been hurt badly by a guy, but I couldn’t bring myself to explain. Talk about it. Rome had shattered me, but I still felt as if it would be a betrayal to tell another man about us. What we’d had. Although, looking back, I believed I was the only one who had felt that deeply. My naive young brain had thought he loved me too. I’d held on to that hope all the way to Rhode Island, thinking he’d come for me, that he would show up.