Total pages in book: 114
Estimated words: 111165 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 556(@200wpm)___ 445(@250wpm)___ 371(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 111165 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 556(@200wpm)___ 445(@250wpm)___ 371(@300wpm)
“What is this, velvet?” I want to run my hands all over her fucking body and never stop.
“I know, it’s material you’d wear around Christmas, not summer,” she says, running her fingers over the bodice. Naturally I’m staring at her very full breasts that are very much on display. “But it fits and I think it’s flattering. Isn’t it?”
She glances up at me through darkened lashes and completely catches me ogling her. “Sorry, I didn’t hear you,” I tell her. “I was staring at your very lovely breasts.”
She laughs. “Well, I was sort of pointing at them wasn’t I.”
Now I’m faced with the dilemma of if I should kiss her or not.
Fucking man up and do it.
But she takes my arm in hers and starts walking off, leading me to the car. “Come on, we don’t want to be late. I have a feeling Mr. Chow is one of those restaurants that has goons who will grab us by the collars and literally hoist us out onto the streets.”
“You look nice, by the way,” she says later when we’re in the car and zooming down the 405 toward Beverly Hills, traffic light for once. “It’s kind of odd to see you in a suit. And to see your face.”
“My face?”
“You’ve got one hell of a jaw, you know that?”
“Should I shave more often then?” I ask, glancing at myself in the rearview mirror.
“Shave, don’t shave, scruffy, not scruffy. I like every single version of you.”
I wait for her to yammer on awkwardly as she sometimes does when she thinks she’s paid me too much of a compliment. But she doesn’t add to that.
I glance at her and her attention is out the window, watching the passing cars. Something in the car is changing, the space and air between us. There never used to be tension and now it feels thick enough to choke you. I can’t tell if it’s just that we’re going somewhere fancy, if it’s the infamous third date, or that I can still feel her lips crushed against mine, taste how sweet she is. Or maybe it’s all those reasons combined.
Whatever it is, it’s big and tangible and very real. I’m not sure how to deal with it and what it means but I know what Marina means to me.
“So what did your aunt say?” I ask.
She sighs, slipping further down in her seat as if she can hide from the question. “I wouldn’t talk about this on the third date with anyone, that’s for sure.”
“Well I don’t even talk about my own father with any of my girlfriends, so believe me, I get it.”
She glances at me thoughtfully. “Really? What do you say?”
I shrug half-heartedly. “Not much. I say my parents split and my mother remarried.”
“They never ask about your dad?”
“No…I never…it just didn’t come up. I’m not known for my deep conversations. They’d always badger me about that. ‘Why don’t you talk more, you never open up.’ Blah, blah blah.”
“But how can you get to really know anyone if you don’t open up?”
“You can’t.” I give her a pointed look. “You don’t.”
She nods slowly, chewing on her lip, getting it. All the girlfriends I’ve had, no matter how long I was with them, it never progressed to anything deep because I never let them see any deep parts of me. They got my poetry and that’s about it. Everything else was surface. It’s just easier that way.
Really, there’s no mystery to why I’m bad at love. Most of the time, I don’t even think I want it. I might not even deserve it.
“Then let me say, I’m kind of honored that you share that stuff with me,” she says, her eyes fixed on me with a wane kind of hopefulness. “And I hope you know I want to hear more. I know you still keep a lot of things to yourself and I totally get it but…I want to know everything, Laz, even the things you think would scare me.”
No, you don’t.
“Anyway,” she says softly, examining her nails under the wavering freeway lights. “My dad’s on another bender. He was doing so well, as you know. The last couple of times I’ve been to his house, he’s looked great. The house was free of booze, it was actually clean, the cat was fat and happy. I know I…” she trails off and when I steal another glance of her, tears are welling up in her eyes. “I shouldn’t get my hopes up about these things and I’ve been through it so many times, I just…”
I reach out and take her hand, squeezing it, rubbing my thumb along her soft skin. God, if I could take her pain from her. “There’s nothing wrong with having hope, Marina. It’s natural. It’s…needed.”
“Yeah, well,” she says, wiping her tears away with her other hand. “I have hope and he just lets me down again. I know it has nothing to do with me, I know that it’s not about him not loving me enough to stop. I mean, fuck. He killed my mother, Laz. He killed his wife. I know it wasn’t on purpose but don’t you think that would be e-fucking-nough to quit drinking forever?” She takes in a deep, shaking breath.