Total pages in book: 123
Estimated words: 117601 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 588(@200wpm)___ 470(@250wpm)___ 392(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 117601 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 588(@200wpm)___ 470(@250wpm)___ 392(@300wpm)
“The bad news is you’re not out of the doghouse. But my interest is piqued.” He hops off the forklift, knotting his arms over his chest.
He sounds cold. Distant. Gone. I can’t blame him. I have been an absolute nightmare to love. And he loved me anyway.
“I bought a first-class ticket here.” I chuckle awkwardly, covering my face with my hands.
“All right.” He quirks a brow. “Brownie points for determination. Why?”
“Why!” I laugh to myself, frantic, and desperate, and so far gone for him. “Because I love you. Because I don’t want to lose you again. Not ever again. I read about that Curt Richter experiment on my way here,” I tell him. “And I know all about the rats. The wild rats fought for their survival. They were savages. They didn’t give up. You’re my rat, Joe. I want you to be my rat. I promise not to land you in deep water ever again. From now on we’ll swim together.”
I’m searching his face. All I care about is his reaction, not the massive public declaration I’ve just made. He blinks a few times, taking me in. He is still by the forklift. A good twenty feet away from me, at least.
“How is this time different from all the others?” he insists. “How do I know you won’t walk away tomorrow? Or the day after? Or in a month? I can’t do this anymore, Ever. I can’t put my heart in your slippery hands.”
“They’re no longer slippery!” I half beg, throwing my arms upward. “I swear. Sturdy as a surgeon’s. My only hang-up wasn’t about loving you—there was never any doubt in my mind that I loved you. It was about sparing you from the heartache of being with me. I thought I was cursed or something and didn’t want you to . . . I don’t know, I didn’t want anything happening to you, I guess. Like Mom and Dom.”
Every single person staring at us looks lost, entertained, and a little disturbed on Joe’s behalf. Joe, himself, looks mostly exhausted.
“Ever, you’ve put me through hell.”
“I know.”
“And you chose my brother over me.”
“No. No, I didn’t. I never would have moved forward with the wedding; I can see that now. I know this in my bones, Joe. It was always you. Always.”
“You’ve been flaky, indecisive, and torn about me from the get-go.”
“Whoa.” I lift my hands up in the air. “That part’s not true. I’ve always loved you. I was just not always sure that love was enough to get over our obstacles. But I am now. I’m sure.”
“One hundred percent?” he asks.
“One hundred and ten,” I assure him.
There’s a beat of silence. Clipboard Guy throws his hands in the air. “For Pete’s sake, kiss her already. We have three more deliveries to unload before ten!”
With a rush of laughter, Joe runs toward me, and I run toward him—yes, trespassing—and we crash together, our lips finding one another. The kiss gets salty, fast. With my tears. With his tears. We laugh into it, our teeth knocking together. I haven’t brushed my teeth in twenty-four hours, but I doubt he cares. Being awkward and a little gross around him seems to be the theme, and I’m embracing it.
“I’m sorry,” I tell him. “I’m really sorry.”
“For what?” He can’t stop kissing me.
“All of it. I should’ve always chosen you. I should’ve never turned my back on you. Even when Mom died.”
“Good thing I know how you can make it up to me.” He picks me up by the backs of my thighs, laces my legs around his waist, and carries me away from the wharf.
Clipboard Guy is yelling after him that his shift has just started, but Joe and I both know that he is handing in his resignation before the day is over.
“How do I make it up to you?” I murmur into his mouth.
“Never leave again.”
EPILOGUE
One year later.
“Don’t be nervous.” I press my cheek against Joe’s back, embracing him from behind. He fumbles with the nicotine gum pack in his hand before popping two into his mouth.
“What the hell is nervous, anyway? The word sounds familiar. Alas . . .”
This is the biggest lie he’s ever told me. The only one he may have told me in our lifetime. Because in a few short minutes, we are both going to leave this hotel room, take the elevator down to the Vine, a swanky restaurant in one of New York’s most prestigious hotels, and celebrate his book release with an official dinner.
For Ever will be published tomorrow—Tuesday—and available in all major retailers. It has a new title, a gorgeous cover, and front-to-back superlatives from the biggest newspapers.
“Of course you’re not.” I turn him around, making him look me in the eye. “I’m just projecting.”
“That you are.” He kisses me softly as he collects my face in his big palms. He tastes of nicotine gum. “Shit. I hate not smoking.”