Total pages in book: 95
Estimated words: 111768 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 559(@200wpm)___ 447(@250wpm)___ 373(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 111768 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 559(@200wpm)___ 447(@250wpm)___ 373(@300wpm)
Melody is in her underwear.
I don't know why, but I find it pretty damn funny.
I laugh, seeing his distress over walking in on that, especially when Melody groans. "Geez, Ignazio, never took you for a voyeur."
"I can assure you," he says, "that was the last thing I wanted to look at."
Melody scoffs, leggings finally on, and playfully nudges him with her elbow as she jets out of the bedroom, heading for the bathroom down the hall. Naz cautiously turns back my way when she's gone, his eyebrows raised as he approaches. His eyes scan the room around me, taking in the utter mess, before settling on the mirror. He regards my reflection as he pauses beside me, eventually turning right to where I stand. "Another venture into the eighties, I gather."
"How'd you guess?"
"You look like someone I used to masturbate to when I was in my teens."
My face heats at that, blush taking over my cheeks.
Naz's eyes scan me, from my head to my toes, before settling on the piece of black lace by my feet. He reaches down and picks it up. It isn't until it's in his hand that he realizes exactly what it is. His face pales just a bit as he whispers, "Please tell me this is yours."
"Of course it is."
He breathes a sigh of relief, smirking, as he takes a step back, wordlessly shoving the thong in his pocket. I laugh and am about to say something about it when Melody waltzes back in, brush in hand, steadily teasing her blonde hair. Naz looks her over quickly, not at all the same way he looked at me.
He almost looks confused.
"You know, we didn't really dress like that in the eighties," he tells her… same thing he once told me. "I don't know where you girls got that idea from."
Melody looks down at her outfit, her black lacy leggings and what looks like a neon pink sports bra with matching tutu. She's even got on a pair of jelly sandals… something else we found today at the store.
She said she wouldn't be caught dead in a pair any other time.
They shouldn't make them for anyone over the age of nine.
"Really?" she says. "What did you wear?"
"Acid-wash jeans," I chime in. "The also really liked shoulder pads for some reason."
Melody pretends to gag. "Even I'm not crazy enough to go down that path."
Naz shakes his head, like he disagrees, and turns back to me without commenting. Melody disappears again after grabbing her bag full of make-up, as usual the last to ever be ready.
"Do I, what?" I ask, running my hands over my hair. It's poufy from being crimped. Another thing we stumbled upon at the store—a hair crimper. I didn't even hesitate before grabbing that one.
"Excuse me?"
"When you walked in," I say. "You were asking something."
"I was wondering if you had any plans tonight," he says, glancing around. "Sort of already answered my question."
"Oh, yeah… Melody wanted to go to Timbers, and I mean, I didn't think it was a good idea… I still don't know, but I figured, well… no harm, right?"
I'm babbling, because I'm not sure how to explain it or what I'm supposed to say, if I'm supposed to ask how he feels about me going out. I'm barely twenty, and this is prime ‘going out' age, but we're married now.
I've never exactly seen an example of how normal married life is supposed to be.
"Right," he says. "You don't need my permission. If you want to go dancing, by all means, go dancing. I'm not going to tell you no."
"Are you going to follow me, though?"
A slow smile spreads across his face.
Of course he is.
I'm not surprised, and it's not like I planned to do anything he wouldn't approve of, but still, I roll my eyes. Now that is old Naz. As much as I might hate it, I've got to admit—it's good to see him being himself again.
"I would," he says, "but I have a few other things I need to do tonight."
"Like?"
"Like," he says, stepping closer, so close our toes touch, as he leans down slightly toward me. "Things."
He leans in to kiss me, closing the distance, but I turn my head, trying to contain my smile when he groans because of my rejection. I glance at him in the mirror. "Promise me something."
"What?"
"Just… something."
"You want me to promise something without knowing what the something is?"
"Yes."
"It doesn't work like that," he says. "I can promise to always try my damnedest to come home to you at night… I can promise to love you for the rest of my life… but I can't promise whatever this something is without knowing more about it."
"Why?"
"Because I don't break promises," he says. "I have to know it's something I can keep."
I glare at his reflection. "If you follow me tonight, after you're done with your things, promise me you'll at least come in."
"You want me to come inside the club?"
"Yes," I say. "If you follow me."
He hesitates. I can tell by his conflicted expression that he wants to say no. Timbers is hardly his kind of scene. It's loud, and crowded, filled with drunken college kids. I know he used to go to that place called The Cobalt Room to drink, but I'm pretty sure that place was like a nursing home compared to the nursery room of Timbers.
"Fine," he concedes, his voice strained, like he had to force the word for his lips. "If I show up tonight, I'll come in."
"Promise."
"I promise," he says, grabbing my hips and turning my body, forcing me to look at him and not his reflection. "But I need you to promise me some things. No drugs, no drinking, no flirting, no fighting, and for god's sake, no fucking."
"Uh, no fun," Melody says, appearing in the doorway. "Way to be a spoil-sport."
He ignores her, staring at me, his expression dead serious. He's waiting for my promise. He already knows he has nothing to worry about with the last few, and I'm certainly not one to do any drugs, but drinking?