Total pages in book: 109
Estimated words: 101622 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 508(@200wpm)___ 406(@250wpm)___ 339(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 101622 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 508(@200wpm)___ 406(@250wpm)___ 339(@300wpm)
Either way, her words, whether she’s joking or not, are a punch to the gut. A hit of reality injected into a great night to ruin it. I stop, turning back and filling the doorway. Staring at her, I ask, “Is there competition?”
She sits up. “Now, why would you ask me that?” A smile is still on her face, but it’s gentler, mingling with the concern in her eyes. “I only left the other day, and then I was back the next. How fast do you think I operate?”
“That’s a loaded question.”
She gets off the bed and comes to stand in front of me. When I look up, annoyance has replaced the bliss in the aftermath. With her hand on her hip, her eyes stay on the floor, and she shakes her head as disbelief embodies her shoulders. I can sense the shift in her mood. She finally looks up at me, and says, “If you don’t trust me, just say it. No use keeping me around if you don’t believe I’ve been true to you.”
Before she escapes into the bathroom, I capture her wrist. “True or genuine?”
The question pulls her brows together, and then, with a resolve into indifference, she shrugs. “Does it really matter?” She pulls her wrist away and enters the bathroom behind me.
In the heat of the moment, I convince myself that the lies don’t matter, that the act is over, and she’s here for me and not some payout. With the embers remaining and ready to burn out, the truth hurts. I enter the bathroom as she’s dipped into the shower to turn on the faucet. “What do you do for a living?”
She drops her head down as if I’ve exhausted her more from the line of questioning than the sex. Looking up, she sighs. “I get that you have amnesia, but you don’t remember anything?”
“Not about you. Nothing. Not one memory that we haven’t made in the past few days exists.”
“It exists,” she says with such conviction she almost convinces me I’m wrong. “You just don’t remember.”
“Sure. That’s it.”
She grabs a towel to preload it onto the hook. “What about work? What’s the last thing you remember about your job?”
I get my own towels, not ignoring the fact that they’re all mine, and hang them on the hook next to hers. “I remember speaking to Jocelyn—”
“Your assistant?” She steps back from the shower and looks at me.
How does she know who she is? Have I mentioned Jocelyn before without remembering saying the name? I take a step back to figure out what the fuck is going on. How would she know that?
That’s it. I’m done playing this game. I care about Delaney, but these secrets are becoming too much to ignore. I was hoping she’d tell me the truth, especially when given the perfect opportunity several times over. Yet another test falls off the tip of my tongue, wondering how she’ll respond. “Yes, my assistant.”
“I almost forgot who she was. Carry on.”
“Almost like you’re the one with amnesia.” I don’t know if she’s failing or passing since she’s got my thoughts all messed up.
She laughs. “Funny.” There’s no humor heard in it. “So you remember work but not me? I really made an impression, didn’t I?” The sound is more restrained, but at least she seems to be laughing to herself this time.
“Yeah, seems so.” I reach in to test the temperature of the water. Since it’s ready, I’d love to get in, but this damn cast must be covered. “Do you mind helping me?”
She grabs the bag and the elastic and slips both over my arm. There’s no irritation in the act or stalled in her muscles, which I expected since I’ve put her on the defensive. Just kindness, which I appreciate. “You’re not about to steal my shower, are you?”
“Nope. Thanks for the help.” I step under the spray of the water. “I was already coming in for a shower when you overtook everything.” I could say that about a few things. I leave the stall door open as an invitation. I’m sure she’d feel better clean like I will. I’ll feel better if I get all this off my chest.
Delaney looks annoyed with her arms crossed over her chest and her little foot tapping in irritation. But that’s something she’s going to have to work through on her own. I have a bigger mess to clean up—our relationship.
You would have thought she was surrounding a great battle when she enters the shower and closes the door behind her. Somber, the quiet between us gives too much time to stare at one another and ignore what I know we’re both thinking. Ignoring doesn’t do either one of us any favors, so I ask, “If there was one thing you wish I remembered about you, what would that be?”