Total pages in book: 122
Estimated words: 115618 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 578(@200wpm)___ 462(@250wpm)___ 385(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 115618 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 578(@200wpm)___ 462(@250wpm)___ 385(@300wpm)
Amusement widens his eyes. “Most people do.”
“I’ve seen you relaxed at the beach, and we’ve been to hundreds of parties together over the years. You’re one of my friends, someone who easily makes my top six.”
He chuckles. “I’ve earned that sixth spot.”
Reaching over, I cover his wrist with my hand. “I’m only teasing.”
“It’s probably true, though, and that’s okay, Tealey. I’m willing to work my way to the top.” There is nothing innocent or bashful about that smirk. I’m dead. Gone to heaven . . . or maybe this is hell. Considering one of my “friends,” my sixth closest to be exact, just told me he’s working his way to the top of my list and then killed me dead with a smile that could land me in his bed . . . Yeah, Rad Wellington knows exactly what he’s doing using that loaded weapon on unsuspecting victims like myself.
“I, uh, um, oh my . . .” He leaves me stumbling over basic English, so I use a napkin to wipe the drool from my chin and then shove the hot dog in my mouth because nothing I say right now will make any sense anyway.
“Since we’re on the subject of friends, I’ve been thinking about the unique opportunity we’ve been given.”
I take a quick sip of soda. “Oh, yeah?”
“To strengthen our relationship. Not that it’s weak or anything, but—”
“It’s okay. I know what you meant. What’s the opportunity?”
“We have a chance to really get to know each other. We’re both single and work way too much. The little free time we have will probably be when we see each other at home.”
“I’m following.” As I finish my hot dog, I think about all the ways this opportunity could go, filling in blanks that aren’t even on the table. Pulling my head out of the gutter, I say, “We could spend some of that time together.”
“Take tonight. There’s no pressure or dress code. No expectation or—”
“Demands. We get to be ourselves.”
He nods, looking at me like he believes in me. It’s been a long time since I’ve seen someone look at me like that and even longer since someone felt that way. Other than my mom, of course. “That’s just what I was thinking. You’re easy—”
“Slow your roll with that rumor, Counselor.”
Chuckling, he says, “Easy to be with.”
I laugh, the corners of my mouth lifting as I tilt my chin down. “Not much better.”
Rubbing the bridge of his nose, he says, “I’m blowing it.”
“No, you’re not.” I reach over and take his hand. The heat between us causes me to note our connection before I set it on the table. “You’re doing just fine.” The thumping in my chest is loud enough for the entire city to hear as I try to swallow the nerves that have crept in.
When I look at him, he seems to be having the same struggle. His soulful brown eyes lift to meet mine, and then his hand reaches over. Taking my hand in his, he says, “This is the start of . . .” He gulps. “Of a great friendship.” Snapping his cup up, he stands. “More soda?”
Shaking my head, I’m left bewildered by what just happened. The sentiment is still spinning in my head and chest. Was he suggesting more than friendship there? That’s impossible. This is Rad I’m talking about. Mr. I don’t do relationships. No, I’m reading the situation all wrong, interjecting a fantasy of mine where it doesn’t belong.
Rad Wellington is off-limits—if not for our friendship, then because of our living arrangement. With so much going on in my life—from my living situation to my job and relying on his offer to stay with him—I can’t screw this up by confusing his kindness for flirting.
Scooping up the trash, he tosses it in the bin, and then says, “Guess we should—”
“Yep.” I stand, and we walk toward the exit. “Call it a night.”
“I was going to say have a nightcap, but you’re probably right since we both work tomorrow.”
He holds the door open for me. Mentally kicking myself for the wrong assumption, I don’t stop or look back because then I’ll look and sound desperate, making it awkward. “Probably for the best,” I say, though I don’t believe a word of it.
The conversation on the way back is kept in safer territory, like the weather and the neighborhood.
I find myself walking a little slower when I step off the elevator into the apartment, not ready for the night to end. It’s late. We work. I know all the reasons it makes sense to go to bed, including how much longer it will take me to get to work tomorrow, but that doesn’t loosen the knot in my stomach.
I’m being silly. It’s midnight. Go to bed, Tealey. Stopping at the edge of the living room, he looks back at me. Thumbing over my shoulder, I say, “Guess I’m heading to bed.”