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Fuuuuuuck. I looked at the floor, held out my hand. “Right, the divorce papers. You could’ve done us both a favor and stuck them in the mail. Nice knowing you, Lindy.”
50
LINDY
* * *
“What?” I gasped. Saw the way he wouldn’t look at me, processed the harsh tone he’d given to those words. I was just inside his doorway, and I’d already fucked up. Again. “No. Dex, not the divorce papers.”
He finally looked up, eyes wide and full of surprise. He’d been expecting the worst.
“Here.” I shoved the toaster at him so I could pull my laptop from my bag.
“A toaster?” he asked, holding it out in front of him as if it was a bomb.
I huffed out a laugh because I was so nervous. I hadn’t seen him in so long and he looked so good. Smelled good. His hair was a little longer, but he looked… weary. As weary as I felt, probably.
“No.” I grabbed the laptop and held it up. “This. Can I put it down somewhere?”
He nodded and I followed him through the beautiful penthouse apartment and to the kitchen. The huge, modern and sleek kitchen. Completely different from mine. There wasn’t a takeout menu or a magnet in sight. No appliances besides a coffee maker. Did he even eat here?
I set it on the center island, opened the lid and pointed at it. “Here.”
He frowned. “What?”
“My story. You said you–”
“You want me to read it?”
I nodded, bit my lip.
He was the first person I knew, besides Lucy and my editor, to read anything I wrote. I had some sales so readers had bought the first two books, but they were under a pen name. They had no idea who I really was.
“Lind, I know where I stand. Me letting you in is because I’m a gentleman, but I’m not a masochist. I can’t read your book and send you on your way. I can’t… I can’t do this.”
My eyes widened, then I wilted. Hurt shot through me because I had done this to him.
“Please,” I begged.
“Now?”
“Oh, I’m sorry. You might have plans and I barged in and–”
“I don’t have plans. But I… fuck. Fine.”
He set the toaster on the marble, pulled out the stool and sat down.
And started to read.
51
DEX
* * *
The only other time I read a romance was on the flight back from Finland. Then, I had hours to kill and nowhere to go. Now, I had Lindy in my apartment, and she wanted me to read her book.
I asked her more than once and every time, she’d said no faster than a mom scolding a two-year-old. She’d come to Denver and wanted me to read it.
