Total pages in book: 110
Estimated words: 106935 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 535(@200wpm)___ 428(@250wpm)___ 356(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 106935 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 535(@200wpm)___ 428(@250wpm)___ 356(@300wpm)
At a bowling alley in Brooklyn, a few weeks later, I nail all ten pins for a strike. Sweet!
I don’t showboat—no one likes that—but I happily accept a kiss from my woman.
“You are such a bowling stud,” Layla coos, then plants another kiss on my cheek.
“Are you leaving lipstick marks on me again?”
“I might be,” she says coyly.
“Hmm. I might need to bend you over the bed and spank you for doing that,” I whisper.
Her blue eyes sparkle. “Yes, please.”
I growl, then shake off the dirty thoughts ravaging my brain. “Focus. Party. Stop distracting me like you did the day I met you.”
“I can’t help it,” she says. When it’s her turn with a bowling ball, I take a seat and enjoy watching her send the ten-pounder down the lane. She knocks down a handful of pins, then a few more, then stands aside to cheer on Cynthia as my son’s fiancée takes her own turn.
We’re here at Cynthia’s new workplace for their engagement party. Spoiler alert: she said yes.
My dad and mom are here too, and no surprise, they love Layla. They’ve gotten to know her over the past several months. Layla moved in with me, so it’s our home now, and it sure feels like one when we cook for friends and family. My parents sometimes, David and Cynthia at other times. Every now and then Layla’s mom comes over. Anna even helps out in the kitchen, since she’s started cooking again occasionally. Anna Mayweather and I aren’t the best of friends, and we never will be. But she knows I make Layla happy, and she respects our relationship. That’s all that matters. Also, Anna decided she’s ready to start dating again. At the dinner table, Layla will go through her list of possible men and it’s fucking hilarious to watch Layla try to set up her mom.
Right now though, I’m a proud dad and a happy guy. My kid’s getting married to the woman of his dreams. I’m living with the love of my life.
When Layla joins me on the yellow plastic seats, I thread my fingers through hers. Running my thumb across her skull rings, then along her ring finger, I picture another ring there someday.
Maybe someday soon.
For now, we’re living our best life together.
Her friends are here tonight too. Harlow and Bridger are bowling with Ethan and a bandmate of his. Jules and Camden are on their team too.
My brother returns from grabbing a beer, parks himself by my side, and takes a drink. “You’re up,” I say, nodding to the lane.
But he doesn’t answer. He’s staring at Layla’s friend Jules a lane away. She picks up a bowling ball, then laughs at something her redheaded friend says.
Jules glances toward him and dips her face to hide a smile.
What in the hell is going on?
“Yo, Uncle Finn! It’s your turn,” David calls out.
My brother blinks like he’s clearing off a fog. “Right, thanks.”
As he pops up and grabs his ball, I remember something he said months ago. The other night, I met up with my friend Tate for dinner. His daughter was there. She’s in her mid-twenties, I guess.
Everything clicks. Jules is Jules Marley. Holy fuck. Her dad, Tate, is Finn’s best friend.
Then, my brother nails a spare, and I swear he steals another glance at the woman a lane away.
In the morning, I zip up my carry-on, then head to the door. My driver waits at the curb to take me to the airport. I’m keynoting at a conference in San Francisco, and I expect Layla to give me a playfully stern send-off. Maybe something like Imagine me in the audience uncrossing my legs.
But when she emerges from the bedroom, her brow is knit.
Her lips are parted.
Her breath is coming fast in worry.
Something’s wrong.
I drop the bag and cross to her. “What is it, sweetheart?”
Shakily, she shows me her phone. I read the text from Mia.
Hey, hun! Can we chat this morning? There are some things I need to talk to you about.
That’s ominous, but I stay upbeat for Layla. “It’ll be fine. Whatever it is, we’ll sort it out,” I reassure her.
“Will we? What if I lose my job? I love this job.”
“I know you do,” I say, “and you’ve been great at it.”
Facts are facts—the Mia Jane brand has grown tremendously since Layla joined. They’ve opened more stores, including one on the same block as Gin Joint, Layla’s favorite hangout spot with her friends. Mia’s also expanded her lines and become a bit of an online sensation with young people. The numbers are hot. The brand is vibing.
“But this doesn’t sound good, Nick,” she says, worry thick in her voice. “What if she’s firing me?”
“She’d be a fool to fire you. I mean that completely.”
She fidgets with her rings. “What if she’s shutting down the company?”