Total pages in book: 113
Estimated words: 106772 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 534(@200wpm)___ 427(@250wpm)___ 356(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 106772 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 534(@200wpm)___ 427(@250wpm)___ 356(@300wpm)
For a moment, there was nothing but the sound of our breathing, our hearts pounding in sync, our bodies tangled together. I held her close, my fingers brushing through her hair, whispering words of comfort, of promise.
She buried her face in my neck, her tears dampening my skin as she clung to me, her body shaking with silent sobs. I tightened my hold, vowing to never let go, to be her anchor, her safe place. I could never replace Miriam, but I could be Antonia’s next person.
I kissed her forehead, her cheeks, her swollen lips, whispering her name like a prayer. “I’ve got you, Antonia. I’m not going anywhere.”
She sighed, her body softening against mine, her fingers tracing circles on my chest. “I need to go.” Antonia moved away and walked across my gym. As much as I wanted to watch her every move, I didn’t because I needed to brace myself for what she would tell me next. Reluctantly, I turned to face her. She was focused on putting the rest of her clothes on.
“Antonia?” Her name came from my lips softly and probably with a hint of desperation.
“I’m sorry, Weston.”
I nodded and looked at the ground. “There’s nothing to be sorry for. I’m a big boy. I knew the consequences.”
Unable to continue to sit there, I stood and grabbed my shorts off the floor. I slipped them on and went to the refrigerator, then grabbed two bottles of water. I took one over to Antonia and then retreated to my corner, giving her space.
She wiped at the tears that still fell. As much as I wanted to comfort her, I couldn’t. I didn’t think my heart could take the rejection. At least not today. Today, she had been through the wringer, being there for a friend’s last life celebration, and now this. From the day I saw Antonia across the court, I’d wanted to be with her. Now that I had, it wasn’t enough. I wanted more. I wanted her. I’d known it from the first time I saw her.
I should’ve said no because she wasn’t in the right frame of mind. Because her need for me was out of grief. Having sex with her was a way of helping her forget her pain and not remembering me.
I should’ve said no.
“Did you drive down?”
“No, I walked,” she said as she shook her head.
“I’ll drive you back.”
“That’s not necessary.”
I finished the bottle of water and crushed the thin plastic into a ball. “It’s not safe at night,” I told her. “The kids drive up and down the road at high rates of speed, and there isn’t anywhere to step off the side of the road.”
She looked at me, and I hoped she understood the message—the kids had already lost their mom; they couldn’t lose her too.
Antonia finally nodded. “Thank you.”
“I’ll grab my keys.” I went inside, grabbed a sweatshirt, and went into the kitchen to get my keys. When I came around the corner, Antonia was sitting on my couch, and Scout had his head in her lap. I stood there, resting against the archway.
“Did your wife live here?”
“No. I bought this house after the divorce. She’s been here, though, and helped me decorate.”
“Are you one of those men who has throw pillows on their bed?”
I couldn’t help but laugh. “Nah, although when I was married, we did. It would take five minutes just to crawl into bed. Do you have them?”
She met my gaze and smiled. “Full disclosure, I pile them on the free side of my bed.”
“Smart thinking.”
This easiness between us was nice, despite the awkward encounter in the garage, and I wished she could see that we had something between us. I also wished she could see how well she fit in my house, even though her ever being here longer than a handful of minutes would be unlikely. She was now a single mom of two.
When she didn’t move from the couch, I asked, “Would you like a tour?”
“That would be nice.” Antonia stood, and I spread my arms out.
“This is the living room.”
She laughed, and it was music to my ears.
I showed her the kitchen and the dining room, then walked down the hall to the first bathroom, the spare bedroom, which was used mostly by my parents, and finally my room. I’d never been more thankful that my mom made me clean my room and make my bed every day when I was young. I would’ve been rather embarrassed if my underwear was on the floor.
“Do you read?”
“I do. Mostly conspiracy-type stuff and wartime books. You?”
“Romance,” she said. “I’ve been meaning to start a library at my place but never got around to it. Maybe I’ll do it at Miri’s.”
“Come here, let me show you something.”
We walked down the hall to my office. I opened the door and flipped the light on. Both walls had built-in bookshelves. One side was nothing but novels, while the other side held my trophies, baseball memorabilia, and some news articles I had framed.