Total pages in book: 74
Estimated words: 70570 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 353(@200wpm)___ 282(@250wpm)___ 235(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 70570 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 353(@200wpm)___ 282(@250wpm)___ 235(@300wpm)
I’m left wondering to what fuss he’s referring. “Um, sure.”
“And a tour of a new place is always better in good company.” He flashes another smile. I really wish he’d stop doing that. “Can’t think of any better company to go with.”
I have underarm sweat. Back sweat. Neck sweat. I think there might be sweat in my ears. I’m not a sweater. I never sweat.
And I’m still wondering what I just did to my hair.
What’s going on with me?
“Are you thirsty?” I blurt out. “I think I need a glass of water. I’m gonna run in and get one. Or two. Want me to bring you one?”
“Oh. Sure.” Cole smiles again. I swear, it’s like staring into the sun. “I can come in with you if you—?”
“No,” I cut him off more abruptly than intended, then slap a hand to my hair as if to hide it. “That’s okay. I’ll be back in a sec.” Before I can humiliate myself with another word or action, I’m off toward the kitchen, narrowly avoiding stumbling over my clumsy feet on the way.
I yank the patio door shut behind me and go straight for the cabinets, fishing through them for a glass. Once I’ve got two, I set them on the counter and go for the fridge, where I find two bottles of water. After grabbing them and closing the fridge, I discover my reflection in the shiny surface of the door, which promptly leads me to frantically fixing what I’ve done with my hair one-handed, the bottles of water held against my chest by the other.
“Phew, you’re a mess,” says Samuel from behind.
I spin around, startled—and one of the bottles flies from my chest, hits the ground, and goes rolling across the kitchen floor.
Samuel’s foot stops it. In one swift movement, he kicks it up from the floor like a soccer ball—but fails to catch it and fumbles for one frantic moment as the bottle flips out of his hands like a baton out of control. Then he finally manages to get a hold of it while settling into a calm pose with a cheesy grin, as if the whole thing was a smooth-guy, choreographed move. It wasn’t.
“Thirsty?” he asks, voice cracking slightly.
“Yes, and I’m getting us a drink,” I answer plainly, reaching for the bottle of water he caught.
He pulls it away. “Wait. ‘Us’ …?”
I frown. “Just give me the water.”
“You two are an ‘us’ already?”
“Are we really gonna do this?”
“You’re movin’ kinda quickly, don’t you think? I mean, shoot, y’all just met today. A couple minutes ago.”
“We just met today,” I say with a finger wagging between his chest and mine. “A couple hours ago.”
“I’m just sayin’, could you at least give the still-warm corpse of my heart a little time to rigor mortis before you move on to Mr. Perfection out there?”
I reach for the bottle again. Again, he moves it out of reach. I sigh. “We’re not an us-us. We’re just chatting on the porch getting to know each other, like Nadine wanted.”
“Isn’t he kinda stiff for your taste?” Samuel glances toward the side patio and makes a face. “Dude walks around like he’s always in the middle of a prostate exam.”
“Samuel. Water. Now.”
“I’m cleverly sayin’ the guy looks like he has a stick up his ass.”
I reach yet again, and again Samuel is too quick. The effort has put my face very close to his, where I stop and freeze in place.
Samuel gazes deeply into my soul. “Hey, Malckie.”
Once again, I’m lost to the bottomless pools of Samuel’s eyes, which are so pretty and close to mine, they pour all over my face.
I step back from him at once, annoyed. “Real mature, Samuel. Are we gonna keep playing games with each other?”
“Depends. Seems like you’re enjoying them.”
“I’m not.”
“Eyes never lie.” He winks.
“Cole is thirsty and so am I.”
“Hey, what about me? What if I’m thirsty?” He pops open the water bottle, tosses the cap at the counter, then starts chugging.
I watch the muscles in his neck dance, hypnotized.
Then it hits me. “You’re jealous.”
At once, Samuel chokes on his water, yanking it from his lips as he coughs and sputters. The second he recovers, his eyes throw two steely daggers at me. “Jealous??” he rasps. “Of that? Of him? I am not jealous, my friend. I am thirsty.”
“Thirsty and jealous can mean the same thing.”
“Hey, I’ve known guys like that one. Hell, my ex was a guy like him: pretty, put-together, and—nck, nck, nck.” He taps his forehead with a finger. “Not enough goin’ on up here. You’ll be bored of the conversation in a day.”
“I’m bored of our conversation right now,” I spit back.
“How old is he, anyway? Sure he’s not the current president of the Spruce High chess club?” He takes another swig of water as if kicking back a beer, then snorts.