Total pages in book: 46
Estimated words: 43536 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 218(@200wpm)___ 174(@250wpm)___ 145(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 43536 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 218(@200wpm)___ 174(@250wpm)___ 145(@300wpm)
“My place,” I respond without thinking. Tyra takes a step back.
“Not happening. I’m not stepping foot in that ridiculously overly large house that broke us in more ways than one.” Fuck, fuck, fuck! I do not want to have this conversation in the midst of a restaurant on a busy Friday night. It wasn’t until Tyra and Von moved out that I realized just how lonely that house could be.
“I can’t say that I blame you. We’ll go for a walk instead,” I suggest. Her body sags in relief. At least there’s something I did right, selling that place, putting the profit in an account with both of our names. There was no way I was starting my law practice with the proceeds coming from a house that wrecked our entire foundation.
“That will work.” My hand glides to her lower back, meeting bare skin once again, the tips of my fingers pressing into Tyra’s skin. Feeling her muscles tense and knowing I’m the one who caused this just adds another mark in the list of fuck-ups. We make our way through the busy crowd, Tyra unconsciously moving closer towards me. At least something is going right tonight, for now at least. The second the automatic doors open, we’re assaulted by the city lights of the Vegas Strip—bright lights, loud sounds. This might not have been the best idea.
“I always did love walking along these streets once the sun went down. Most people born and raised here can’t stand to do something as inconsequential as people-watching.” Tyra’s what you call an old soul, loves watching a good black-and-white movie, has no qualms about my parents or her parents holding a Sunday night dinner, and while she may work once the day is over, everything stops surrounding her life as a massage therapist. The only thing she cares about is her friends and family.
“I remember.” Many a date night, we’d take in a show, have dinner, and this was her one request—to walk for an hour or so before ordering a car to head home, the real date night beginning then if Von was at his grandparents’ or with Celeste. That’s someone else I’ll have to apologize and thank profusely if things go my way tonight.
“Kind of hard to forget about something like that when you made it happen each and every time.” My hand leaves her lower back for the back of her arm, sliding down until our fingers touch. Either Tyra is so lost in the memories that she doesn’t realize that when our fingers lace, it’s her doing, or she’s ready to listen to what I have to say.
“Making you happy was always my number one priority, until I fucked up and found out what it was like not to have you.” I guess I’m going to spill my guts on the streets of the Strip, people weaving in and out of the way, some attempting to walk between us until they take one look at my face, then they’re rethinking that idea.
“There is that.” I find a small café; it’s not too busy, an open mic kind of night, and I guide us to the front entrance, noticing an empty table near the back out of the way of others. “You want a coffee?” My eyes clocked that barely sipped-on drink when I approached the bar at the restaurant. I’d have thought she’d down the drink in a few gulps with the nerves Von and my parents talked about her having.
“Yes, but decaf. I have a date with a certain five-year-old after I clean the house and grocery shop.” In my quest for climbing to the top, that was one of a million things I tried my hardest to get Tyra to concede to—bringing in a cleaning service to give her the time off from doing mundane things, not realizing my wife at the time didn’t mind taking care of the house and running errands. It was her contributing to the family in a way she loved.
“I’m going back to my parents’ tonight. I’ll keep him occupied a bit longer so you can sleep in before doing your thing,” I offer. Tyra’s head cocks to the side, unsure if I’m being honest or not.
“You’re taking a day off of work, on a Saturday?” she questions.
“I am. What would you like? The usual?” I ask.
“Do you know what my usual is?” A question answered with a question.
“Caramel coffee, three creams, two sugars, foam on the top,” I rattle off the brew that’s more a sugary sweet than coffee.
“You remembered.” Tyra doubts everything we’ve ever had together.
“I remember everything, siren.” I hold her chair out, waiting for her to sit until I whisper those words behind her ear, my eyes swooping in on the pebbled flesh that’s left in its wake.