Total pages in book: 102
Estimated words: 95173 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 476(@200wpm)___ 381(@250wpm)___ 317(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 95173 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 476(@200wpm)___ 381(@250wpm)___ 317(@300wpm)
“You know your mom,” he says, and I just nod. “She wants to make sure you have it. How is hockey going?”
“Good,” I say, leaning back in my chair. “I’m sitting out for the preseason, but I will send you guys tickets for the opening game.”
“You know we would never miss it,” my father says, and I smile. He was there for every single game with his jacket zipped up and his hands nervously tapping his leg the whole time. My mother shrieked every single time the puck came to me. “You sound tired.”
“Yeah, I didn’t get much sleep last night,” I tell him, my mind going back to Vivienne, and I wonder what she’s doing.
“You do too much, Markos. You need to find a woman who can take care of you,” he says, the traditionalist in him.
“I can take care of myself.” I laugh. “I haven’t starved yet.”
“Yeah, but you need a woman,” he says, and I close my eyes. “You know, to keep you warm.”
I groan. “And that is how we are going to end this conversation,” I tell him. “I love you. Kiss Mom for me.”
“I will speak with you tomorrow,” he says, and I hang up, putting the phone down. Feeling a water drop on my hand, I look up and see gray clouds rolling in.
The door closes behind me right as the sky opens, and it begins to pour. I see the lightning strike in the distance and listen to the thunder. I pick up my phone and call Vivienne; it goes to voice mail after four rings.
“Bonjour laissez-moi un message.”
Her French makes my whole face light up.
“Hey there, it’s me. Just wondering how you are doing. Call me back.”
As soon as I hang up the phone, the door buzzes. I walk over, expecting it to be my food. Instead, Vivienne’s standing there soaking wet, and she’s holding the fish tank in her hands. “Are you crazy?” she shrieks, and all I can do is look at her. “You sent me a pet.”
“It’s a fish. I don’t think it qualifies as a pet,” I tell her, and she shoves the bowl lightly into my stomach.
“Why would you do that?” she hisses as I hold the bowl. “Why would you throw that responsibility at me?” she shrieks.
“It’s a fish,” I say slowly. “An easy fish.”
“Good,” she says, throwing up her hands. “Then you keep it. Send me pictures.” She turns and walks back toward the elevator, all the time talking to herself in French.
“Wait a second, don’t you want to come in?” I ask, looking down at the fish.
“No,” she answers, pressing the button and then the sound of lightning rocks through the walls.
I put the fishbowl down by my feet and run to her, grabbing her hand. “Please come in.”
“You sent me a pet,” she says. “A pet that I need to feed and make sure that it doesn’t die.”
“It was supposed to be cute,” I say, trying to hide my amusement.
“If you want to be cute, send me a pair of shoes!” she yells. “A purse.”
“Fine,” I say. “I promise to never send you anything alive again.” The elevator comes up, and I watch to see if she gets in, but she doesn’t move.
“I walked here, fuming.” She starts to say and crosses her arms over her chest. “Thank God, I put on this jacket.” She looks down at the jacket and so do I. It’s down to her knees, a trench coat of sorts, and it’s tied at her waist.
“Do you want to come in and dry off?” I ask her.
“I’m not wearing anything under this,” she says, and I tilt my head. “Well, I’m wearing my bra and panties.”
“Are you telling me that you walked here naked to return a fishbowl to me?” I ask her, putting my hands in my hair.
“You sent me a pet. A pet.” She points at me, and I take her finger now and pull her into my house, picking up the fishbowl and putting it on the table. “I think it’s even dead.”
I close the door behind her. “Did it come with a box?” I ask her, and she nods. “Did you open the box?”
“Briefly,” she says, crossing her arms over her head. “I read the note and then came here.”
“Naked,” I say, my eyes roaming up and down, wondering what she’s wearing under there. My heart speeds up, thinking about it.
“It’s like a bikini.” She puts her hands on her hips now. “And don’t change the subject.”
“Let me see.” I don’t know if I’m asking or telling her, and she glares at me. “Show me.”
She looks at me, and I wonder what’s going through her mind. I expect her to tell me to fuck off, but she doesn’t. She unties the jacket and stands there in a light pink totally see-through bra, her nipples pebbled, and an equally transparent thong.