Total pages in book: 86
Estimated words: 84930 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 425(@200wpm)___ 340(@250wpm)___ 283(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 84930 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 425(@200wpm)___ 340(@250wpm)___ 283(@300wpm)
I hadn’t told him who I was going out with tonight when he agreed to watch Skipper, but he also hadn’t asked.
It’s true that I manage to go out and get dressed up plenty with my girlfriends, but rarely with a man. So the dress and the hair and the makeup must be throwing him off.
“Jack Jennings.”
Jack’s name hangs in the air between us while Skipper is already getting her dolls out of the leather trunk my brother uses as a coffee table. Everything she loves is inside: Dolls, puzzles, books, stuffed animals.
My brother steps closer. “Penn. What aren’t you telling me?”
He’s studying me with a shrewd look in his eye, brows furrowed as if he already knows what I’m going to say.
“What do you mean? I’m going for a drink with Jack. He has a few things he wanted to get off his chest. Something about superstitions so he can play?” I’m shrugging into my jacket, and I can’t even look at Davis.
He knows me too well.
“So that’s what this is about?” He pauses. “He’s having a hard time playing or something because of these dreams?”
“Yeah, I guess.” I pull on my gloves. “Remember, we dated in college?”
“Yeah, I remember you dated in college.” Another pause. “Seven years ago, to be exact.”
Both our eyes stray to Skipper as she sets her ponies on the carpet, laying them out on the floor one by one.
My brother’s eyes bore into mine, and without saying it, we both know what he’s thinking, except I’m not ready to say the words out loud.
I barely have the courage to put one foot in front of the other and go through the front door to meet Jack, who waits blissfully unawares downtown at some fancy, bougie restaurant.
“That’s it. That’s the only reason you’re seeing him.” He makes it a statement, not a question, and it makes me feel defensive.
“Yes, Davis. That’s the only reason I’m seeing him tonight.” My chin goes up a notch, but I’m anything but confident, my gusto inflating like a balloon that’s been pinpricked.
“I hope you know what you’re doing, sis.”
I don’t.
That’s the whole thing of it.
I haven’t the faintest clue what I’m doing, but I’m going to fake my way through the best I can.
“I hope so, too.”
Chapter 4
Jack
Damn, she looks gorgeous.
Stunning.
Prettier than anyone I’ve been on a date with since the day she walked out on me.
I try not to stare as the maitre d’ pulls out her chair so she can be seated and puts the napkin across her lap. I try not to stare when she tips her head up to thank him.
It’s impossible to say whether or not Penelope put in a maximum amount of effort into dressing up tonight, but I appreciate the long wavy hair and the emerald-green dress that clings to her body—both of them silky. So silky I want to reach out and touch her, run my hand over her thigh, over the fabric that looks as if it were made for her, and that is not the reason we are here.
Shit. What if seeing her tonight makes my dreams worse? What if instead of exorcising the demons of her running through my mind, I have even more dreams about her?
The thought hadn’t occurred to me until now. This dinner was supposed to cleanse my body of her. Cleanse my mind so I can sleep and eat and concentrate. The past couple of weeks have been an exercise in refocusing my thoughts away from Penelope.
We are no longer kids. No longer college students who lived in a bubble of naïvety.
I grew up the day she walked out on me without a word or explanation. I’m a man now with real responsibility, who makes a fuck ton of money in a fast-paced world where people fight for my time…sitting with a woman who wants nothing to do with me.
Keep telling yourself that, Jack. You have to keep reminding yourself that Penelope doesn’t want you in her life—you’re only here to sage her from your mind.
We don’t speak until after the server has come to take our drink order. I order a cocktail on the rocks while she orders a glass of wine. It’s strange to see her drinking. She never did while we were in college. She claimed she never had a taste for it.
This is not a date, this is not a date, this is not a date.
I look up from my menu to find her watching me—dark hair, dark eyebrows, blue eyes—and it takes me a solid few seconds to remember that I have to speak actual words from my mouth and not just sit here gawking at her. I’m more affected than I ever thought I would be. Why did I legitimately think I could meet her and act like a normal person?