Total pages in book: 104
Estimated words: 99381 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 497(@200wpm)___ 398(@250wpm)___ 331(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 99381 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 497(@200wpm)___ 398(@250wpm)___ 331(@300wpm)
But it doesn’t mean I’m done with her.
I can’t be.
I can’t let go.
Even when she asks me to.
CHAPTER 35
Billie
He knocks on my door.
I don’t answer it.
He knocks again the following day.
I still don’t answer.
I know it’s him. He’s the only person who would knock and not call my name.
So when Monday comes along, and I open the door, I don’t expect to find him standing there. But here he is, coffee in hand, dark gaze locked on me.
“It’s my birthday,” he says, offering me the coffee.
“I’m late,” I tell him, not accepting it. “Happy birthday,” I add just as he holds the cup out to me again. I ignore the coffee, shut, and lock the door, and walk past him. He follows. Because of course he does.
“Will you come over tonight?” he asks.
“No,” I reply without hesitation.
“Tomorrow night?”
“No,” I repeat.
We step out onto the street, and I pass his parked car. He keeps following me.
“The day after?” He’s persistent. I’ll give him that.
Sucking in a breath, I turn to face him.
“Stop,” I tell him. “Stop and go home.”
He smiles at me as he steps closer. “I lied. My birthday is next week. But I was hoping it would work.”
Huffing, I continue walking. This time, he doesn’t follow.
I manage to get to work on time, his words playing on my mind the whole time.
Tuesday, I once again find him waiting in the hallway. I close and lock the door behind me and don’t accept the coffee.
Wednesday is the same thing. He doesn’t speak, and I’m thankful for that. I feel like I might give in if he does. I can only take so much of this back and forth. And whenever I try to push him out of my mind, he’s there.
Thursday, he isn’t there, though.
Friday, he isn’t either.
By Saturday, I’ve checked my phone multiple times, expecting a text, even though that’s never really been our style, but there’s nothing.
I bake. I bake so fucking much that my apartment is overflowing with food.
And then I cry.
I wipe at the tears, not able to stop them. Why won’t they stop?
Fuck my life.
My phone rings, and I ignore it.
How did it even get to this point?
I pushed back so much. So why do I feel so fucking miserable with everything, even when I’m sticking to my guns and not buying into his games? I want to romanticize it. I want to think he’s trying because he wants me. But I don’t think Ford is capable of that. Even when he lets me in a little, it just doesn’t feel like it’s enough.
Or maybe it’s my own reservations about giving my heart fully to a man I think is incapable of handling it with the love and care it deserves, which is ridiculous. I have so many people who love and care about me, but this feels entirely different. I’m coming to realize that love is a shitty thing. I begged, kicked, and screamed for my brother to get out of my way and let me date, and now I’m not sure why.
I got lost in a secret relationship that was only sex.
I’m not that girl. I’ve always wanted commitment. I want a man to want me for me—every part of me, not just my body. And don’t want him to look at another woman the same way he looks at me.
I want what my parents have.
Yet, here I am, single, alone, and baking in my kitchen. Crying over a man who tells me sweet nothings but can’t back them up. And I know it’s an excuse because I’m somewhat the same. What a mindfuck.
Glancing around, I decide I need to get rid of all of this food. There’s no way Ivy and I can eat all this. And I know someone who would, but I don’t want to see him.
Picking up my phone, I see two missed calls from Jewel. I like her a lot. She’s a total badass who knows what she wants. But I can’t say we’re particularly close. Calling her back, I wipe at my face, knowing I probably have cake batter over it. I lick my lips and can taste the buttercream icing I put on the cupcakes.
“Oh, hey. I know it’s late, but I desperately need help,” she says, sounding frustrated.
“Yeah?”
“Well, Eli said you can bake?”
“Yes…?” I hedge, looking at the counter and all the shit I baked today. I did way too much, but like my mother, I find it soothing.
“Eli took on a big job, and well, I tried to bake him something to celebrate. And let’s just say, I can’t bake,” she admits, defeated.
My eyebrows shoot to my hairline. I don’t necessarily think my cousin would care for baked goods, but I know for a fact if it comes from Jewel, he’ll fucking freeze it for life, not letting anyone touch the treasure that his wife made. And I think it’s cute that she’s trying. It’s nice to see they have these types of moments. Like a normal relationship would.