Total pages in book: 180
Estimated words: 176012 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 880(@200wpm)___ 704(@250wpm)___ 587(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 176012 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 880(@200wpm)___ 704(@250wpm)___ 587(@300wpm)
I clench my fist around the racket.
“Five a.m.,” Madoc replies.
“Fuck.”
Jax laughs.
I don’t. I drop my arm, letting the ball fly past me again. “Guys, I’m not in the mood for this today. I’m sorry,” I tell Madoc. “I gotta run laps or something.”
I have to get out of here and clear my head. I need silence.
“Amen.” Jax turns and starts walking past me as if he was thinking the same thing. “I’m going to swim some laps.”
Jared follows his brother. “I’m going home for cardio.”
I walk out after them, Madoc calling out behind us. “I thought you guys liked racquetball!”
I surprise myself with a smile. I love them; although, I feel bad not one of us are in the mood to indulge him. It finally feels like I’m home.
“See you tomorrow!” I shout back at him.
Bright and early.
Jumping onto the track, I mark the time and start jogging. I keep my pace steady and slow, my stride carrying me lap after lap in no time. Quinn rides a Peloton bike and meets my eyes once.
But not again. Every time I pass, she’s lost in her music or her workout, and I leave her alone.
The gym empties more and more as time goes on, and when I pass by again, she’s no longer on the bike. I find her at the leg machines, tuning into a cooking show on the TV while she works out.
Still learning. Forever curious. She sits on a leg curl machine, but she’s not working, her attention lost in the cake decorating show.
Eyes wide. Lips parted just slightly. I swallow, unable to not look at her as I cruise by. She’s beautiful. Just the view of her. And the things she says. It all culminates in this world according to Quinn that I like living in.
There’s no way I’m fucking leaving her to live in the same town as Hugo Navarre and Green Street. She stays. They go.
“Lucas.”
I slow, popping my head up to see a woman just off the track in an Astrophysics black polo and black shorts.
Breathing hard, I reach her and stop, recognition happening almost instantly. “Sarah?”
Auburn hair, beautifully wavy, blue eyes, and freckles—still in shape as she always was. An ex-girlfriend.
She smiles, and I tense, about to move in for a hug, but I don’t. The last time we spoke she told me my life would be shit and then threw her milkshake at me where it splattered all over my car.
Glancing at her name tag, I see that she works here.
“I heard you got married,” I say, trying to catch my breath.
“I did.” She speaks gently. A lot kinder than the last time. “It didn’t work out.”
“I’m sorry.”
“We live and learn.” She looks me up and down. “It’s good to see you.”
I cock my head playfully. “Is it?”
She waves me off. “Oh, a lot’s happened since. I’ve cooled off,” she teases. “And I’ve grown up. You?”
We broke up because of me. I liked her, but I didn’t love her. I didn’t want to waste her time anymore.
But now…
I breathe out a sad laugh. “We’re never where we think we’ll be by a certain age, are we?”
She frowns. “No, we’re not. They don’t tell us that.”
Nope.
She was nice. And we had fun. I hurt her, but I knew it was the right decision.
Now, though… We’ve both been knocked off our high horses.
“Any kids?” she asks.
I shake my head. “No. You?”
“No.” She wets her glossy lips, a little orange to match the red in her hair. “Married?”
I shake my head again.
“Are you back for good?” she asks.
“I work abroad now,” I tell her. “Just home for some family business.”
I glance at Quinn as she changes the channel to another show, her shorts and sports bra showing her glistening skin and every curve of her ass. Some guy stands nearby, stealing glances at her.
“Things on your mind?” Sarah asks.
I look back at her, breaking into a smile. “I was never relaxed.”
“I remember.”
Yeah, I’ll bet she does.
She pulls up her clipboard and writes something on a business card. Handing it to me, she says, “I still remember how much you liked blowing off steam too.”
I take the card and see her address on the backside.
“I’m home after ten every night,” she tells me. “Key’s under the mat.”
Something jolts in my heart, and I dart my eyes back up to hers, that easy playfulness in her gaze just like I remember.
She walks away, throwing a smile back at me, and my stomach swims, my mouth like sandpaper.
She didn’t ask me out. She didn’t give me her number. Just ‘here’s the key, come after ten.’ How many single men wouldn’t love the invitation of a good fuck with no strings attached?
I drift to the fountain and gulp down some water.
It would help to have her to go to. I’m still fucked up from last night and haven’t had a release.