Total pages in book: 96
Estimated words: 97767 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 489(@200wpm)___ 391(@250wpm)___ 326(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 97767 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 489(@200wpm)___ 391(@250wpm)___ 326(@300wpm)
I open my mouth.
Close it.
“Sorry it didn’t work out.” I want to argue with her so bad.
My sister grunts. “I’m not. Everything happens for a reason.”
“Surprisingly zen of you,” I remark, leaning back against the couch.
She smirks, grabbing another gummy bear. “What can I say? I’m a fountain of wisdom.”
“Or denial,” I mutter, earning a playful shove from her.
“Shut up,” she says, laughing. “Seriously, though, I dodged a bullet. If a guy can’t even text to say he’s not showing up for a date, he’s not someone I want in my life.”
“Fair point,” I admit, though the idea of someone treating my sister like an afterthought makes my blood boil.
“Exactly.” Nova pops another gummy bear into her mouth. “Besides, I had more fun pretending not to know you and roasting you at the bar than I would have on a date.”
“Gee, thanks.” I groan, dragging a hand down my face. “Are you ever gonna let that go?”
“Absolutely not,” she replies, grinning. “The girl was hilarious, Gio. Like—brutally honest in the best way. We need people like that in your life.”
We?
“People who insult me in public?” I ask, raising an eyebrow. “I have you for that.”
“Eh. We can always use one more.”
3
austin
I’m all yours until a hockey player falls in love with me. Then you’re on your own…
Why does the guy at the end of the bar look familiar?
I give him another glance, squinting slightly as if it’ll help my memory. Nope. Still can’t place him.
Sliding onto a stool in the center of the bar (luckily, it’s one that doesn’t wobble), the worn leather creaks under me as I cross my legs and settle in, propping my elbow on the bar.
And before you go asking what the heck I’m doing at the bar for the second time this week, the answer is simple: grabbing dinner. I’ve had a long day and don’t feel like cooking, and this place makes a burger so good it should probably be illegal.
I open the menu, even though I already know what I’m ordering. The bacon cheeseburger is a no-brainer, and their fries? Life-changing. I skim the options anyway, stealing another quick glance at the broody guy down the bar.
The guy at the bar.
His broad shoulders.
He sure is good-looking.
Something about him keeps pulling my attention.
There’s something about him—something familiar. It’s not the way he’s hunched over his drink—which looks like ice water—as if it personally offended him. It’s the jawline, the dark, messy hair, and unmistakable energy of someone who’s mentally replaying every bad decision they’ve ever made.
Like the universe has wronged him recently and he’s still debating how to retaliate.
Huh.
I tap my fingers on the edge of the bar, debating. Curiosity isn’t a good enough reason to talk to a stranger, is it? Then again, what’s the harm in striking up a little conversation?
Before I can overthink it, the words are out of my mouth.
“Rough day?”
He doesn’t react at first; stares at the ice cubes floating in his glass. For a moment, I don’t think he heard me—or worse, he’s ignoring me.
But then he turns, locking his eyes onto mine.
Oh.
Oh…
Okay. Wow.
Did I say good-looking?
I take it back.
He’s…
Wow.
So stunningly similar to Gio Montagalo that I am taken aback.
But. With the ball cap he has on, it’s hard to see his eyes–the bar is way too dim, the lighting throwing too many shadows over his face.
I blink three more times before realizing I’ve been staring. LIKE A WEIRDO.
I swear the corner of his mouth twitches like he knows exactly the effect he’s having on me.
“Rough day,” he repeats, voice low and gravelly. “Something like that.” Pause. “Rough week, actually.”
I raise an eyebrow, leaning slightly toward him. “Well. Whatever’s in that glass doesn’t look like it’s helping.”
Ha ha.
His lips twitch, but barely. “It’s water.”
Ding, ding, ding—I was right!
“Let me guess,” I continue, gesturing toward his glass. “You’re one of those people who think water solves everything. Bad day? Water. Hangover? Water. Life falling apart? Water.”
He shrugs, his dark eyes flicking back to mine. “I’m not a big drinker.”
“Valid,” I concede, grabbing my Sprite with lime and raising my glass in a toast. “You know what helps more?”
He arches an eyebrow, waiting.
“Bacon. Cheeseburger,” I declare victoriously. “Guaranteed to fix any bad mood.”
“Now you sound like my sister.” He laughs.
“Why? Does she like burgers?”
“No—she’s always pushing gummy bears on me like those are a cure for any ailment.”
Interesting. “Gummy bears?” I repeat, tilting my head. “That’s oddly specific. Is she a doctor or something? Is this her medical opinion?”
He chuckles, shaking his head. “Nope.”
“Does it help?”
He pauses, considering. “Sometimes.”
At that exact moment, my burger arrives. It’s in a to-go bag, packed neatly in a white Styrofoam container doing nothing to disguise the mouthwatering smells wafting out of it.
My mouth waters as I untie the knot and lift the lid, taking a deep whiff.