Total pages in book: 177
Estimated words: 169272 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 846(@200wpm)___ 677(@250wpm)___ 564(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 169272 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 846(@200wpm)___ 677(@250wpm)___ 564(@300wpm)
In reality, despite my silly joke, I don’t actually think a friend of Kat’s billionaire would be a good fit for me. I’ve got fairly high self-esteem, as a general matter, but I’ve been in enough bars with the supernaturally gorgeous and extroverted Katherine Morgan to know the men who hit on her aren’t even the same species as those who hit on me. And since birds of a feather flock together—since Kat’s billionaire is a young mogul who could get literally any woman he wants—I have to assume any friend of Josh’s would also want a bombshell type like Kat, rather than a sarcastic, bespectacled, goofy, girl-next-door type like me.
To be clear, I’m perfectly happy not attracting the same kinds of men Kat does. Given Kat’s looks and confidence, only the cockiest of men ever have the juice to hit on her, and cocky men aren’t my jam. I like nerds. Dorks. Shy, humble, brainiac types with subtle, quiet confidence. Of course, I want a man to like himself and think he’s got lots to offer, but I don’t want him thinking he’s God’s gift to women, either.
Also, I get the sense Kat’s billionaire is a “bro-ski” type, a former frat boy, and that’s the polar opposite of my type. I love my curves and I’m done with societal brainwashing that says I have to be as skinny as a rail to be beautiful. Fuck that. That said, I’m not immune to getting my feelings hurt from a mean-spirited comment about my appearance, and it seems like bro-ski types are the ones who always say the meanest stuff to me, especially when they’ve been drinking. I tried to avoid frat-boy/bro-ski types even before Angus came along and deftly shattered my self-confidence, but now that I’ve picked up the pieces and moved light years beyond that dark period of my life, avoiding his type has become an unbreakable rule.
“Funny you should ask that, Banana,” Kat says, replying to my joke about her hot billionaire having a hot friend. “He does. And he’s the coolest guy you’ll ever meet. Actually, he’s a fucking genius.”
My lips part in surprise. I’ve made that same joke multiple times—whenever Kat’s been telling me about her latest fling—and this is the first time Kat’s replied in the affirmative.
“Kitty, I was joking.”
“As a matter of fact,” Kat continues, ignoring my comment, “his friend is here right now, and I think he’d really like you.”
“Kat, no,” I blurt as my heart rate spikes. “I’d want to ask some questions about the guy before you even think about—”
“Henn!” Kat calls out on her end of the line. “My adorable and funny friend, Hannah Milliken, wants very much to say hello to you!”
Holy crap. This is definitely a case of “careful what you wish for.” Kat knows how picky I am when it comes to dating. Hence, the reason I’ve basically given up on it. Just because the billionaire has a friend, and the friend happens to be in the same room as Kat during this call, doesn’t mean I’d actually like the guy well enough to want to be set up with him.
“To me?” a male voice says in the background on Kat’s end of the call. I hold my breath, hoping to hear Kat’s response. But no dice. Suddenly, Kat’s end of the line goes silent in a way that suggests she’s pressed the mute button.
Crap. I’m the worst at flirting, especially in situations like this, when I’ve been blindsided and haven’t had the chance to google and gather information in advance. It pains me to think of all the weird, old-fashioned things I’ve involuntarily blurted—stuff old ladies would say—during what’s supposed to be a flirty, fun conversation.
Kat’s still not coming back.
Why?
What, exactly, doesn’t she want me to overhear?
God, I hope she’s not hard selling this guy too much, or I won’t be able live up to the hype.
“Hello, Hannah Milliken,” a male voice says, causing me to physically jolt in surprise. “I’m Peter Hennessey, but everyone just calls me Henn.”
Oh my gosh. His voice is cute. Earnest. Sweet. Confident, but not overly so. I clear my throat. “Hi there, Henn. I hope Kat didn’t threaten you with bodily harm if you refused to talk to me.” I snort at my own joke. Shoot. Don’t do that, Hannah.
“No, no, I’m glad to talk to you.”
Sweet Sassy Molassey. Is it possible to swoon over nothing but a guy’s voice? I think that’s what’s happening to me right now. Henn seems friendly and sincere. Warm and approachable. Or, heck, maybe it’s been so long since I’ve actually talked to a potential date, as opposed to trading pointless, futile messages on dating apps, I’m overreacting to the sound of an actual human voice.
“I’m glad to talk to you, too,” I say. “Although I feel like I should clarify I was joking when I asked Kat if Josh has a friend. I overheard her making it sound like it was my idea to talk to you, like I demanded to talk to you, but my question was purely rhetorical, I assure you.” Again, I snort. Shoot.