Total pages in book: 96
Estimated words: 90337 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 452(@200wpm)___ 361(@250wpm)___ 301(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 90337 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 452(@200wpm)___ 361(@250wpm)___ 301(@300wpm)
“Barf,” Maya chirps from where she’s arm-in-arm with Elaina, earning an eyeroll from the knockout in the red dress.
“Oh, stop,” Elaina says. “You and Anthony are every bit as disgusting.”
“Maybe worse,” I agree as Elaina guides Maya to Anthony’s side, reuniting the lovebirds, who embrace with a guilty laugh.
“Fine, but we can’t help it,” Maya says, following Sydney and Gideon toward the front door. “Love does things to a person.”
“Yes, nauseating things,” Elaina agrees sweetly, winning another laugh from the group. “Which is why I will be sitting beside my new buddy, Hunter, at dinner, the better to digest my lobster in peace.” She thumps me on the bicep with the same, chummy energy as my friends from the gym, hopefully nipping any “will they, or won’t they?” speculation in the bud.
“Sounds like an excellent idea,” I say, admiring the skill with which she’s managed to sort out the seating arrangement without making a big deal out of it.
Inside the hall, long tables covered in brown paper and stocked with empty metal buckets for collecting lobster shells, stretch the length of the room. The walls are decorated with fishing nets and buoys, giving the whole place a maritime feel that would feel kitschy if it weren’t so clearly authentic.
The nets are dusty enough to have been hanging here since the old woman selling tickets was a kid, I realize, once we’re seated and I’m granted a closer look at the décor.
I’m so busy studying the dust—and hoping the kitchen is cleaner than the rest of this place—that I don’t notice that everyone else has gone to fetch bowls of chowder until Elaina jabs me in the thigh with one pointy red nail.
“Nice of you to warn me that you’d be here,” she mutters through her teeth, just loud enough for me to hear. “You’re lucky I have an excellent poker face.”
“I tried texting,” I say. “Twice.”
“Did you?” Her lips quirk. “Oh, that’s right. I blocked your number after you left town. Sorry, I forgot.”
I set my freshly-delivered beer down without taking a drink. “You what?”
“Blocked you.” She shrugs, maintaining her pleasant smile as she accepts a glass of sour-smelling white wine from the server, waiting until the older woman hustles away before adding, “But don’t take it personally. I block all my one-night stands. Just to avoid the hassle, you know? It’s easier than trying to remember which Ryan is which when he calls three months later.”
I grunt. “I get it. In your shoes, I likely would have done the same.”
“I figured. Game knows game, my friend.” She holds up a tiny fist between us, arching a brow when I stare at it for what is, apparently, a beat too long. “Fist bump?” At my blank look, her jaw drops. “You don’t know about fist bumps? Where have you been living? Under a rock?”
“On the Upper West Side. Surrounded by very wealthy people who shake hands, as their WASP God intended.”
She smiles. “Their God… But not yours? Are you Catholic? Jewish? A pagan, who dances naked under the full moon?”
“None of the above,” I say dryly. “I’m not religious.”
“Me, either, much to my late mother’s dismay,” she says with a sigh. “Just another thing we have in common.” She flutters her lashes. “In addition to being shameless sluts who refuse to be tied down. Now, stop flirting with me, the others are on their way back. I know I’m irresistible, but we’re supposed to be playing it cool.”
I take a drink of my beer, concealing my smile.
This woman…
She’s a handful.
And a part of me fucking loves it.
The other part warns that loving anything about Elaina is a mistake I would be a fool to make.
“You want some of my soup?” Maya asks Elaina, motioning toward her bowl as she slides back into her chair. “You know I won’t be able to finish it all. My eyes are always bigger than my stomach when it comes to chowder.”
“No, thanks,” Elaina says, rising to her feet. “I’ll go grab a little cup of my own. You want one, Hunter?” she asks, her tone light, but distant, as if I’m simply the friend of a friend she’s determined to treat with kindness.
“No, thank you,” I say, matching her polite disinterest, note for note. “I’ll wait for the salad course.”
And I do. Only the salad course comes at the same time as the mussel course and soon our entire table is littered with napkins and the shell bucket is overflowing.
Then the lobster arrives, and everyone digs in. Soon, there isn’t a clean space on the butcher paper.
It’s…repulsive.
“You look like you’re going to be sick,” Elaina whispers as the others make fun of the extra-large bib the waitress has just brought over for the very pregnant Sydney. “Don’t you like shellfish?”
“I do,” I mutter. “But this table is…foul.”