Total pages in book: 38
Estimated words: 34760 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 174(@200wpm)___ 139(@250wpm)___ 116(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 34760 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 174(@200wpm)___ 139(@250wpm)___ 116(@300wpm)
"On a cruise ship somewhere in Alaska," she breathes, staring up at me with this look that makes me want to say fuck dinner, fuck conversation, fuck everything but her and the way I want to spread her out and devour her.
Christ, if this is an addiction, it's the best goddamn one I've ever had. But I don't think it's that. I think the tightness in my chest is something else altogether.
It's love, and it's burning a hole straight through me.
"Have you come to your senses yet?" Jess asks as soon as she picks up her phone on Tuesday, her tone rife with annoyance.
I smile despite myself, leaning back against the headrest, my eyes locked on the doors to the library. I can't see Loralei inside, but just knowing she's in there has my body lit up like a fucking firework. It's taking everything I have to keep from finding an excuse to head inside, just to see her again.
I stayed at her place last night, slept in her bed with her in my arms. Letting her leave for work this morning was hard as hell. Would she lose it if she knew I followed her here?
"I never lost my senses, Jess," I say.
"Could have fooled me. You realize you're supposed to be recording an album right now, right? Instead you're…where even are you again?"
"Santa Maria," I remind her, even though we both know she knows exactly where I am. She helped me secure a rental for Loralei on Sunday. And we talked again briefly yesterday.
She grunts. "You're in Santa Maria, doing god only knows what. I swear, if you're drinking again, Ash…"
"I'm not," I say quickly.
"Well, that's a relief," she mutters into the phone as an elderly man stumbles through the doors of the library, a book tucked under his arm. "Because when you failed to call me back on Friday, I was convinced you were on a bender."
"I haven't been on one of those in fifteen years," I remind her softly. "I just didn't have cell service."
She snorts again, clearly still bent out of shape. I don't really blame her for it. Jess acts tough as nails, but we both know it's only because she worries. And skipping town without a word has given her plenty of reason to do that.
I think I'm about to give her more.
"I need a favor," I murmur.
"What kind of favor? Because I already helped you find a rental, even though you wouldn't tell me why."
"It was for the woman I almost hit."
"The woman you…" she trails off and then groans. "Jesus Christ, Ash. What are you doing?"
I hesitate, not entirely sure I know how to answer that question. "I'm taking a break," I say carefully. "I came damn close to downing a bottle of whiskey last week, Jess."
Dead silence rings down the line.
"Figured that meant it was time for me to get the fuck out of town and get my head on straight."
"You could have told me," she says. "I would have cleared your schedule before it came to that."
"You know I'm a stubborn bastard."
"And that's precisely why you shouldn't be alone right now. If your sobriety is at risk, you need to be in treatment, not alone with your own thoughts. You can't rawdog your way through it."
"That's the thing…"
"What?" she growls.
"I'm not alone. I, ah, hell." I chuckle ruefully, shoving a hand through my hair. "The woman I nearly ran over has been staying with me."
"Jesus Christ," Jess groans.
"It's not like that. You know me better than that." For all my sins and excesses, that's never been one of them. I'm no saint. No one in Hollywood is. But I don't blow through women, either. I can't even remember the last time I was with anyone. Hell, I don't even remember the last time I was on a date that wasn't some PR bullshit. I've spent the last five years just trying to hold it together.
Until now, until Loralei.
"I could use some advice."
"Get into treatment," Jess says immediately. "You can't bury an addiction in a woman."
She's right. Except…I'm more convinced than ever that's not what I'm doing. I haven't thought about drinking a single time since I met Loralei. I haven't wanted to escape, haven't wanted to be numb. Haven't felt stretched thin or like being blitzed would be preferable. I've felt…more at peace over the last few days than I have in years, more excited than I have in longer than I can remember.
"What would retirement look like?" I ask. It's not the first time I've thought about it lately. But it is the first time I've asked the question out loud.
Judging by the silence echoing down the line, Jess is shocked to hear it. Or, hell, maybe she's not. I don't know anymore. The last five years feel like some fucked up, never-ending dream. Maybe my entire career feels that way.