Total pages in book: 122
Estimated words: 116031 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 580(@200wpm)___ 464(@250wpm)___ 387(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 116031 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 580(@200wpm)___ 464(@250wpm)___ 387(@300wpm)
We weren’t together long enough to have core memories other than the ones that already existed between us—the bonfire, a few classes together like government and English in twelfth grade, and casual exchanges that didn’t mean anything to him at the time but meant everything to me as the new kid.
Those memories alone have me staring at him now to see how he’s changed. Shane’s tall, like he always was, the clothes he’s chosen flattering him in ways that should annoy me since it seems he dressed for the occasion of our divorce. A dark button-down has replaced his usual T-shirt with pants instead of jeans. A nice pair of leather shoes accents the large silver watch wrapped around his wrist. He looks good, looking every bit the celebrity. He also looks different. I can’t put my finger on it, but something feels off.
He carries a magnetism without regard for anyone who falls for him.
Therein lies the problem.
I still care.
I’m still drawn to him.
It’s just me, standing in front of Shane Faris again, feeling like I did at that party all those years ago in high school. But I’m older now, wiser, and can manage the pain. Time has benefited me in that way, or maybe the kickboxing helps temper my reaction. Either way, it’s not as bad as I thought it would be in his presence.
Until the elevator jolts to a stop.
19
Cate
“How are you?” Shane asks from the far corner of the elevator. His eyes still stare at me like he always did, like we didn’t crash and burn last August but walked away best friends.
I should be bothered that he makes me feel like a girl with a crush because he shined his attention on me. However, there are more pressing issues, like the elevator stuck somewhere between the third and fourth floors.
“Never better,” I reply like my life isn’t flashing before my eyes as I cling to the railing behind me. “Who’d you piss off?”
He chuckles. “Who haven’t I pissed off might be easier to answer.”
“You’re not wrong.” I try to smile, but it’s too hard not to notice this metal box's lack of airflow. “You even managed to get on my bad side, and that’s not easy to do.”
Lowering his voice as if we’re besties sharing a secret, he says, “Between you and me, I don’t think this is a hit job to take me out despite your prayers for it to happen.”
“I didn’t pray for any harm to come to you. That’s not the karma I want to put into the universe. Though I might have wished for impotence on a few eleven-elevens over the past however months it’s been.”
“Ten.”
“Ten what?” I hold his stare, each second that passes making it easier to see him again.
“It’s been ten months since we lost each other.” His jaw ticks as he looks away for a moment. Annoyance seemingly steals his cooler composure. When his gaze treks across the elevator to me, clearer skies have returned to his blue eyes. “I meant last saw each other.”
“Lost each other works. Tomato, tomahto.”
“Yeah, I suppose,” he replies, not an ounce of him sounding convinced. Is the great rock star not on top of his game? He seems thrown. Of course, we are stuck in an elevator, so that might play a small part of it. I’m curious.
Forcing myself to stand straighter despite the fear I have of plummeting to my death in this elevator, I grip the railing and raise my chin as I right myself. “I didn’t know we were dressing for the occasion. I would have chosen all black as well.”
He can’t stop the lopsided grin that makes him even more charming as he tries to hide it from me. “You look lovely. As always.”
The sweetness of his words causes my chest to tighten. How can he say such things when he never saw me looking my best? He saw me after long days at work or in comfy couch-rotting clothes. He saw me fully naked the last night we had together. I glance down at the silky skirt that blows like Marilyn Monroe’s in the wind if I’m not careful—colorful stripes against a white background—the yellow Mary Janes remind me of sunshine, and the fitted white top I was dumb enough to wear when ordering a hot dog for lunch. However, most of the mustard stain came out when I scrubbed it with the hospital-grade soap. I felt good in this outfit and might have even worn it on purpose to appear more carefree than he remembers me. “Thank you,” I say even though I’m a little choked up.
“Did you change your hair?”
I reach for a section and slide my hand down self-consciously. “It’s a little shorter. Not much.”
“The color.” His eyes are set, reminding me how good it feels to be the center of his attention. “It’s darker.”