I pull up Ivy's contact.
Type:When do you leave?
Stare at it. Delete it.
Type:Leave him.
Delete it faster.
Type:I'm fucking in love with you.
My thumb hovers over send. One tap. That's all it would take.
I delete it.
A knock. “Hurry up! We wanna eat!” Atlas calls through the door.
I pocket my phone.
I know what I should do. What Ineedto do.
But I also know what I'm about to do.
Pulling up my contacts, I find Parker's name. Type out a message before I can second-guess it.
Save a room for us in Veilarath.
Send.
Chapter 8
Ivy
Failed marriages create good liars.
Punk raises a brow. “So?”
“So?” I take the filled glass of Cognac.
“My man!” She gestures to her phone with her own drink.
It had already turned dark and locked itself.
I place it onto the table with a chuckle. “Hot. How'd you meet?”
She glares at me. “Wait, you know who he is!”
“Punk, I'm old.” Liquid slips down my throat like burned sugar crystalizing memories I’d much rather forget. “Despite Asher's failed attempts at keeping me young.”
She chuckles, her pixie nose scrunching. “You're not even old. You're twenty-nine, that's not old, and Asher is good for you. He always has been.”
I take a glass from her and point before taking a sip. “Eh…” I shrug, wondering where she got her calculations from. Twenty-nine but girl math. “Eight years older than you, and tell that to Asher who I haven't heard from for almost a month!” Not to be needy, but this is the longest we've ever gone without talking.
Her easy smile falls. “Jesus, when you put your age like that…”
I throw the pillow at her face without spilling a single drop of my drink.
“Hey!” She catches it mid-air with a throaty laugh, resting into the corner chaise. “I'm kidding. You know you look ridiculously young for your age, and also, you're fucking hot so… I don't think it matters.”
