Total pages in book: 86
Estimated words: 84000 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 420(@200wpm)___ 336(@250wpm)___ 280(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 84000 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 420(@200wpm)___ 336(@250wpm)___ 280(@300wpm)
“Done,” I say. She spins back to face me.
“How does it look?” she asks.
I glance up at her eyes, down to her lips, and then to the necklace that sits so perfectly between her collarbones.
“You’re perfect,” I whisper.
Her mouth parts and she shakes her head. We’re silent for a beat. Eventually she says, “Anything but. But the necklace is. Thank you.”
She turns and I sit. My entire body is vibrating. I don’t know if I’m going to survive this weekend.
I’ll raise suspicion if I start downing shots at the table, but I need something to calm my nervous system. A cold shower is probably the healthier option, but not readily available.
I head to the bar in the main restaurant and order another whisky. This will make it better. It will make her fade into the background. I need to remember, I barely know this woman. She might torture small animals in her spare time. Or protest against women’s rights. She could be a monster. Except, I don’t think so.
Maybe I need to get laid. That’s what Leo’s always telling me. Maybe he’s right. Maybe this is a buildup of lust and I’m just channeling it toward Sophia.
“Hey,” a woman’s voice says from beside me.
I snap my head around. Sophia.
The exact person I’m trying to avoid.
“You getting extra drinks doesn’t seem fair.”
“What can I get you?” I ask.
She leans across me, her hand on my arm, and says to the bartender, “Can I get a shot of tequila?” She turns back to me. “What are you doing?”
“Drinking whisky. You?”
“But why here and not back at the table?”
I shake my head, like I don’t have an answer.
“I was on the way to the restrooms,” she says, though I haven’t asked. “It’s… a lot.” Her necklace catches my eye when she nods, and I stare at her collarbones.
What. Is. The. Matter. With. Me?
“A lot?” I ask, trying to follow her thread.
“The group. And Jules really wants me to like Fisher. And I want to focus on her wedding. Maybe she’s nervous and trying to distract herself by setting me up? I don’t know.”
“You don’t like Fisher?” I ask, intrigued whether there are things she’s not saying, lines to be read between.
She sighs as the bartender slides the tequila in front of her. She ignores my question and takes the shot in one.
She winces, still managing to look beautiful.
“I don’t know if it’s because you don’t seem to want to impress me, but it makes me want to… tell you stuff.”
How could she have read me so wrong? Not want to impress her? If I thought it would make me remotely interesting to her, I’d buy the whole town we’re standing in.
“What kind of stuff?” I ask.
She glances between my eyes and my lips, then takes my whisky from my hand and sips. Fuck. Watching her, her hands around the glass I’ve just been holding, it’s like she’s got her fingers around my dick. It shouldn’t be provocative, but it completely is.
Her lips are wet with whisky and I long to taste the heat.
“Everything,” she says eventually.
“Start with something,” I say, bracing myself for something terrible. What is it about me that makes me think the worst is always about to happen?
“I don’t like Fisher,” she confesses.
My muscles unlock, and I sigh with relief. “He’s a good guy.” Despite how I feel, I still need to defend my friend.
“Oh,” she says, her eyes wide, “I’m sure he is. I don’t mean I think he’s an awful person. I just don’t feel a connection to him. You know what I mean?”
I don’t think I could have answered her question affirmatively before I’d met her. I didn’t really understand what “a connection” meant. I’ve never felt the inescapable, visceral response that I do with Sophia. “I do,” I say, trying to keep my tone neutral.
“I just don’t want to upset Jules.”
“Be honest with her,” I say. “She’s your friend.”
She presses her lips together in a forced smile. What’s that? I want to dig deeper and explore why she feels so uncomfortable.
“How was Cincinnati?” I ask, remembering that last weekend she went back to see her family. I felt like there might have been some bad news delivered during the trip.
Her eyes leave mine and she looks over my shoulder. “It was… revelatory.”
I leave space and silence for her to fill, but she doesn’t say anything and she doesn’t meet my gaze.
“You want to talk about it?” I reach over and sweep a tendril of hair from her face. She focuses on me.
“Maybe,” she says. “To you. But not now. Let’s meet back here after the entrée. I’ll need another shot. I should go.” She fingers her necklace. “Thank you for this.” I’m not sure if she means the necklace, the conversation, or the offer to talk.
Back at the table, no one seems to notice we were both away at the same time. I slip into my seat and begin to talk to Byron, who just arrived.