Total pages in book: 93
Estimated words: 90672 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 453(@200wpm)___ 363(@250wpm)___ 302(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 90672 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 453(@200wpm)___ 363(@250wpm)___ 302(@300wpm)
I chuckle. “I wanna make a joke about how you can get it in my mouth too, but if I told you that’s where I wanted it, you’d know I was lying, wouldn’t you?”
A grin sweeps across his face. “You know damn well I’d know.”
It’s annoying that he knows, but I love it too.
“You ever been to that pizza place off Breznel?” I ask.
“A few times.”
“They happen to have calzones?”
“I wouldn’t go if they didn’t.”
I smile. “Well, good. Then I guess you can take me there.”
He winces, then moves closer, until his lips are inches from mine. “Luke Waters, you asking me out on a date?”
“I asked if you knew that pizza place. But I wasn’t asking you on a date.”
He eyes me suspiciously.
“I was telling you we’re going on a date.”
He laughs. “You dork.”
“Hey, I’m not the one who likes a sexy dork.”
He blushes, and God, this is one of only a handful of times I’ve seen Brad Henning blush about something. It’s adorable.
“I’ll go on a date with you, Straight Boy.”
Now I’m the one blushing.
We get off the floor and grab our things. Brad leads me on a shortcut through the woods to the main road, and we wind up a few blocks from the pizza place. Once there, we order at the front, then settle in a booth, placing the coiled stand with our numbers displayed for the server.
The place is pretty busy, which isn’t surprising. I recognize some kids from St. Lawrence, and there are older couples and some families I imagine live in downtown Lawrenceville.
“You like a lot of meat in your calzone,” I note, since he got steak and sausage in his.
Is it weird that I like finding out shit like this about him?
“And you prefer to keep it simple with pepperoni and cheese.”
“With all that’s going on in my life, I love the idea of playing it safe with my calzone.”
He raises his hands in surrender. “Fair point.” He sizes me up. “So how are you feeling? From today’s meeting, I mean.”
“Feels better now that everyone’s talking.”
“I figured.”
“But it was also frustrating that I didn’t have much to contribute to a conversation that was about me. Made me feel like a tool you guys are using rather than someone who can actively help.”
His brow creases. “We just happen to know more about what’s going on. Hell, you’re picking up more about this than any of us did back when we first stumbled upon it.”
It doesn’t cheer me up. Although, knowing that every moment that passes could lead to us seeing another missing person report in the news, wondering if it’s connected to that creature, doesn’t help either.
“We’re all figuring this out as we go,” Brad says, and I nod. “Anyway, forget I brought it up. How about we pretend for the next hour that we don’t know anything about the Sinners’ bible or the Rift or powers or the Moment?”
“I don’t know how good I’ll be at this game,” I confess. I doubt I’ll be able to stop thinking about those things. Feels like there’s a weight on me; like it’s hard to breathe.
Brad reaches across the table, sets his hand on mine, gripping gently. His touch feels so supportive, so comforting. It’s different than how we usually spend our time together, when we let raw, wild passion possess us.
It’s nice.
I rub my thumb along his finger, and our gazes meet before he smirks.
“This is…uh…weird for me,” he says. “Putting my hand on yours like this.”
But he doesn’t pull away.
“Weird like you’re wondering why you did it, or weird like you’re surprised you like it?”
“Both, maybe,” he says with a chuckle. “I don’t really date. Just have fun. Prefer to keep it that way. Because of the shit with my family, I have a hard time getting close to people.”
“That makes sense.”
“You’ve had girlfriends, so I guess this is something you’re used to.”
“The last girlfriend I had was freshman year of high school. That was before Mom passed.” I cringe. “I can’t believe I just said that. I fucking hate when people say ‘passed.’ Died. She fucking died.”
Brad’s eyes widen.
“Sorry, after my parents died, people kept saying things like how they ‘passed’ or ‘moved on.’ I was ten when Dad had the aneurysm. It was hard to let it sink in, and words like that didn’t help me grasp what was going on. That he was never coming back. I was fourteen when Mom died, and I kept repeating to myself that she was dead so that it’d get through. I didn’t want to have any fantasy that she was going to walk through the door and give me a hug because no matter how many times I wished or prayed for it with Dad, it never worked.”
Brad tightens his hold. I can feel his support and compassion, but I want to blow past this awkward moment I created.