Total pages in book: 130
Estimated words: 124971 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 625(@200wpm)___ 500(@250wpm)___ 417(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 124971 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 625(@200wpm)___ 500(@250wpm)___ 417(@300wpm)
“Well, that’s the bank account sorted! Next, we should go to a restaurant or something, somewhere with friends, and take pictures together. We should aim for casual yet affectionate. Perhaps I’ll wear my hair differently so they’d think it was taken a long time ago? There must be a tutorial online on how to fake a fringe—”
“I’m crashing here tonight.” The words tumbled out of my mouth with a slur.
“Oh.” She opened her mouth, then closed it, then opened it again. “Jolly good. I have clean sheets in my room. I’ll sort you out a spot on the settee. It’s quite comfy, or so Kieran says.”
“You let your boyfriend sleep on the couch?” Sadly, I could believe that.
“What? No! Kieran is my twin brother.”
“There are two of you?”
“Bugger off.” She pouted, but I could tell she was amused more than annoyed. “Or I’ll make you sleep on the floor.”
“Is this a degradation kink? Because I might be into that.”
“Oh, dear.” She ignored my quip. “You’re going to stink up my sofa with your weed smell, aren’t you?”
“We could share a bed, you know.” Now I was just riling her up, watching as her eyes flared and her skin tone turned into that of a Solo cup.
“A bed?” Her purple eyes widened comically. “I don’t think so.” She stood up, hurrying toward her kitchenette. “Clearly we’ve both had a bit too much to drink. I reckon a strong black tea is just what the doctor ordered. I’ll put the kettle on.”
“Worried you’d be tempted?” I spread my limbs, intentionally dwarfing the couch. She knew damn well I couldn’t fit horizontally on that thing. I could barely squeeze into her entire apartment. “There’ll be no hanky-panky. I’ll keep my hands to myself. All the other important organs too. Even though you smell like drywall.”
“Like drywa . . .” She was about to finish the sentence, then thought better of it, instead producing two beige mugs from a drawer and dropping teabags inside them. “Never mind. The answer is no. As I mentioned before, I am still involved with my ex-boyfriend.”
“Does your ex-boyfriend know you’re getting married to a stranger?” I asked, watching as she spun around the place listlessly.
“Uhm, not quite.”
“It’s a yes-or-no question. No gray area here, I’m afraid.”
She twisted around like she was trying to worm her way out of her skin. “In that case, no, he doesn’t know. It’s complicated, though. We’re going through . . . something.”
“Some-what?”
“His faculties taking a leave of absence. He is sort of searching for himself. We aren’t together currently, I suppose.”
“You suppose?” I slanted my head. “I’ve never been in a serious relationship, but I’ve always known I wasn’t in one.”
“I’m sure we’ll get back together!” she said defensively. “He’s just going through some things right now. He is . . .”
“A wishy-washy asshole?” I offered charitably.
“A complicated man.” She shot me a scolding glare. “Anyway, it’s just for six months. He’s going away to clear his head for a bit.”
“Where to?” Not that it mattered. There was only one kind of man who was happy to leave everything behind him for six months and travel—a man who didn’t have any pressing issues back home. He wasn’t serious about her.
“Kathmandu.”
“Aha.”
“What do you mean, aha?” She prickled.
“Nothing.” I raised my palms in mock innocence.
She squinted at me with suspicion. “You’ve clearly got something to say. Go ahead, you won’t offend my delicate senses.”
“I bet he watched Everest and decided it’d be cool to see the mountain up close.”
Mount Everest was by far the most gorgeous sight I’d ever laid eyes on. I planned on climbing it again before I hit fifty.
“I’ll have you know he’ll be teaching English to monks,” she said protectively.
I threw my head back and laughed, while Duffy stood there and stared at me, lava-tipped arrows shooting from her eyes straight to my face.
“What’s so bloody hilarious?” she demanded.
“Those programs are semiscams. They’re for patronizing Westerners who want to feel good about themselves. You know he needs to actually pay to stay there, right? Like, a couple hundred bucks a week. About twenty-five thousand Nepali rupees. I survived on that kind of money for an entire month, in semiluxurious conditions last time I was there.” I slapped my thigh, cackling. “Only white rich dudes from New England go around thinking they can teach monks shit and not vice versa.”
Duffy’s lips were now pressed into a disapproving line. “He’s not from New England. He’s from Westchester.”
That only made me laugh harder. “You’re killing me, kid.”
“I’m not a kid.”
“Yes, you are, and a very sweet one, under those ridiculous high-end clothes and fake posh accent.”
That last comment made her flinch, which confirmed my suspicion she was putting on a show. She poured water and milk into our teas and brought them over to the coffee table, shaking with anger. “You wouldn’t understand. It’s about self-growth. He doesn’t care about the money.”