SEVER by Jane, Melissa (best fiction books to read .txt) 📗

“He said it so easily, completely unfazed and so sure of the situation. He’s so… confident.”

Amanda raises her brows in question. “Do you think he’s a player?”

“It certainly wouldn’t surprise me. How could a man like that not be?”

“Well…” she says, holding two patterns next to each other for comparison, “the man barely looks at me when he comes in. Not typical player behavior, who have eyes everywhere.”

She’s right. Amanda is stunning. If the man is a player, he would surely go for her… or at least flirt, but since he doesn’t, it leads me to believe perhaps he’s as genuine as he says he is.

My cell chimes with an incoming email.

“His ears must be burning,” Amanda says, eyeing my screen.

“The man’s intuition is second to none.”

My heart skips a few beats when I read his invitation, or should I say, demand.

Blythe,

Dinner with me, tomorrow night. Don’t overanalyze it. Be like Little Red.

Yours,

Kane

I bite my lip to stop the smile. My stomach fills with butterflies, nervous and full of trepidation.

Am I in the right frame of mind to be having dinner with him?

Is this business or pleasure?

My fingers start typing before I can gauge whether I’m making the right decision.

Dear Kane,

Which version of Red?

Regards,

Blythe

A heartbeat passes before I get my reply.

The original.

Now I’m left to wonder if original Red is an ideal role model. Or if her poor, naïve decisions saw her eaten alive.

~

“Pick up the phone, Sam,” I chant, mentally channeling my sister who appears to be MIA.

“You’ve reached Samantha, leave a message if you can be bothered.”

“Sam, can you just call me so I know you’re okay? I’ve called a few times now. And hey, I’ll text you my new address. Come over after work.” I end the call and tap the cell against my palm, lost in thought. It’s unlike Sam not to have her cell at the ready. It’s often my biggest complaint that she always has her nose glued to the screen and isn’t paying attention to the now. Yet, since starting her new job, she’s almost impossible to get a hold of.

I sit back in my chair, my eyes moving between my computer screen with Kane’s mystery plans still awaiting a response, to the photo frame sitting on a shelf across the room with Shawn’s face staring back at me. It’s of our wedding day, the sun shining brightly behind us, the genuine smiles on our faces failing to disguise the excitement we felt for our future together. In all honesty, with everything that’s gone on, I’d totally forgotten it’s there. Tears brim, and I can’t determine if it’s because of the deep sadness I’ve become an expert at compartmentalizing, or whether that’s given way to anger and frustration.

I twist my wedding and engagement ring around my finger, rings I know I shouldn’t still be wearing. Removing them feels so… final. I haven’t taken them off since the days he put them on, and now here I sit, chiding myself about removing them.

Why? We’re over.

Is there even anything to save?

I pull off the wedding ring, smiling as I remember his vows.

“You are the Cher to my Sonny, Priscilla to my Elvis, and Bonnie to my Clyde.” He’d said it referencing our favorite musicians and movie characters. Back when we didn’t have a care in the world, before the world would show us just how tough it could be. Young and stupid. Stupidly in love. “I promise to continue making your friends jealous of our amazing relationship.” And they were, to the point where they always knew where there was one, the other would be close behind, if not already by their side. But now the joke’s on us.

I slide my beautiful engagement ring off, a perfect marquise-cut pink diamond, and recall the exact moment he fell to bended knee and proposed.

It was at basement comedy night. Gary, our close friend, frequented the stage there because as long as we could remember, he was always coming up with new twisted tales he could spin into a comedy routine. He was hilarious and gifted, yet content to stick it out at the local basement comedy club. One afternoon during a barbecue in our backyard, Gary and Shawn drunkenly joked about Shawn taking to the stage, my boyfriend pretending he could do it better than the professional and that he was loaded with ‘arsenal’ he could use. When Gary laughed and said Shawn could succeed in putting the ass in arsenal, the deal had been sealed with a handshake. Shawn would have a week to prepare his routine.

During the lead-up, I teased Shawn that deals made under the influence of alcohol, don’t stand up in court and that he could back out of it to save the humiliation. I loved my boyfriend, and he was many fine things and could have me laughing at his jokes, but he wasn’t a comedian who could pull off a routine in front of a hundred-deep expectant audience. But he maintained his position. A dare is a dare, Blythe, and I’m a man of my word.

When Friday night arrived, I saw the first tell-tale signs that he was indeed nervous. We pushed our way through the crowd who were already a few drinks down and positioned ourselves at a reserved table right in front of the stage. The same table we sat at every second Friday. Comedy night was our thing, so were our monthly games night where our teamwork skills always irritated even our closest friends.

We watched Gary put the whole room in stitches, and I watched as Shawn’s knee nervously bounced at a dangerous speed. Placing my hand over his, I gave a reassuring squeeze and he mouthed the words ‘I