Total pages in book: 132
Estimated words: 126564 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 633(@200wpm)___ 506(@250wpm)___ 422(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 126564 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 633(@200wpm)___ 506(@250wpm)___ 422(@300wpm)
“I’m an asshole,” I warned, in case she wasn’t paying attention.
“But you’re my asshole. And I love you.”
“I—”
I was going to tell her I loved her, too. But passing out on top of her seemed like a more appropriate plan, so I did just that.
I woke up two hours later with a drip infused into my vein in a pale blue hospital room.
Hallie sat by my side. Her forehead was scrunched in worry.
“You were saying?” She lifted an eyebrow, all sass. “We were kind of in the middle of a conversation when you decided to be all dramatic.”
I laughed, which turned into a vicious cough. My ribs felt like they were about to break.
“I was saying that I love you. I have for a while now. I just didn’t own it.”
“And now you do?” She pressed her cheek on the back of my hand, looking up at me with those angel eyes.
“Now I am.”
“I’m staying in Los Angeles, you know,” she said, after a pause.
I nodded. “We’ll work around that. You don’t have to change anything for me. Now, tell me something interesting to distract me from feeling like I got hit by every truck on the West Coast.”
“Anything interesting?” She hmmed.
“Yeah. Anything. Surprise me.”
She pulled her phone out of her green peacoat and typed something out. I watched, fascinated. She hadn’t been able to do that just a few months ago. She was obviously working hard. Her fingers shook, but she smiled. Instinctively, I reached to grab her free hand.
“Ah, here’s a good one.” She shot me an embarrassed smile. “Humans tend to fall in love with people who have a different immune system from theirs, but have similar lung volume, ear lobe length, and metabolic rate.”
I blinked, watching her. “That is the least romantic thing I’ve ever heard.” She giggled.
“And yet, the fact that you’ve read this makes me want to kiss the shit out of you and finish what we started on the sidewalk.”
“So, do.”
And I did.
One year later.
“I hate this place,” Ransom greets me merrily as I slip into our little Prius.
I snap the safety belt, waving goodbye to Meadow, who is just closing up Misfits and Shadows, and Grady, who watches her doing so longingly.
The night is dark, but Sunset Boulevard dazzles brightly. Twinkling lights stretch their limbs along the boulevard as more businesses open up their gates, turning on their neon signs. The moon hangs high and silvery, a perfect crescent, dangling like an earring.
“You don’t have to suffer it for very long.” I pat his thigh.
Ransom leans in to kiss the side of my neck, his lips brushing their way to mine. He kisses me long and hard, his tongue prodding my lips open, seeking access. I clutch the side of his jaw, deepening our kiss, running out of breath and inhibitions.
This is how we do things, every time he lands in Los Angeles from Chicago, or I go to visit him. We claw at each other like tomorrow never comes.
Like the next time is just a maybe.
Because it is.
Nothing is guaranteed in life.
We learned this the hard way.
When he pulls away, he tucks a lock of my hair behind my ear. “I’ll be suffering long enough. The last thing I want is to go to Texas and play happy family with your sister.”
I make a face, pushing at his chest as he revs the car to life. “Not nice. She’s been trying extra hard.”
“The tagline for her life.”
The car lurches its way toward LAX, where we’ll be boarding a plane to Texas. Hera is getting married…again. This time to a very nice medical technician named Jeff. He coaches the local T-ball team and wants three kids and always asks the elderly ladies for a dance at functions.
In short—he is good. And real.
Craig is currently in prison, serving three years. It might not sound like much, but I know that no matter what, his life, as he knew it, is ruined. He got stripped of everything he cared about, and for me, that’s enough.
“You’re thinking about how nice Jeff is again,” Ransom murmurs, looking about ready to punch a wall.
“The devil called. He wants his attitude back.” I laugh.
“Tell him he should know better than to ask a bastard like me for anything. I’m keeping it.”
Despite the traffic, we get to LAX in time. We park in the long-term parking lot and check our bags and ourselves into the next flight to Dallas. We hold hands. We grin at each other. We’re the couple I used to look at from across the street and loathe, because they looked so wholesome.
“Are you having second thoughts?” he asks. I know he means about moving to Chicago.
“Not really.” I scrunch my nose. “I know you can’t move your business elsewhere. I can. Art doesn’t have an address. Its home is in our souls.”