Total pages in book: 94
Estimated words: 95340 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 477(@200wpm)___ 381(@250wpm)___ 318(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 95340 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 477(@200wpm)___ 381(@250wpm)___ 318(@300wpm)
“Everything with us was fine, and then I said something about roommates, and all of a sudden, she only wants to sit and blab about you.”
Fine—but not great? I want to taunt—but taunting isn’t my style. Being chill is my style. Not caring is my style. Being stone-faced is my style.
Jealousy and irritation and sarcasm? Not my style.
My roommate lets out a frustrated sigh, flopping down on the edge of my bed, uninvited.
“Could you not?” I grind out. “Get your shoes off my bed.”
He ignores me.
"She kept asking about your hobbies, your interests, what you do in here all day.” He leans forward and grabs a fidget toy from my desk and begins spinning it.
“What I do in here all day?” I pause. “Does that mean she thinks I do nothing but sit in my room? Like a hermit?”
“I don’t fucking know, man.”
“But did you make it sound like I’m a fucking caveman? That’s not cool.”
He side-eyes me. “Now you sound like her, one question after the other.” He snorts. “This doesn’t happen to me. Ever.” Another snort and he tosses the fidget toy in the air, catching it.
Tosses it.
Catches it.
“It was so fucking annoying.” He snorts. “I mean, it's like she was more interested in you than she was in me, and we both know that isn’t true.”
“Gee, thanks.”
He looks over at me, lifting one of his bushy eyebrows that chicks lose their shit over. Apparently brows are a thing.
“Are you pouting?”
He shakes his head.
But I think he is and can't help but chuckle at his frustration—at his expense. My, how the mighty have fallen. And if he’s butt hurt that my name came up a few times on his date, he’s more sensitive than I give him credit for.
"Come on, Sully, it's not that big of a deal if she isn’t into you.”
He gives me a skeptical look. "Not that big of a deal? I wanted her to ask questions about me, not you.”
“Did it break your heart?” I tease, giving him shit.
“Pfft, no. But every damn time I tried to steer the conversation away from you, she just kept bringing it right back." He seems to be studying me with a new, critical eye. “You’re boring. I don’t get it.”
I lean back in my chair, brooding over his words.
It's true. I am boring.
And I do tend to keep to myself most of the time, preferring the solitude of my room to the living room, but that’s mostly because my roommates are slobs, and I can’t stand the mess. Like, clean up your shit. Is it so hard to throw cans in the trash? Or put your dirty dishes in the dishwasher?
I stay in my room for sanitary purposes.
“I have a hard time believing my presence has an impact on your love life.”
As far as girls go, I’m a nobody.
Definitely not a heartthrob the way my friends are, or whatever the term is for “dudes chicks would rather bang.”
"I thought we were having a great time, you know, laughing and shit and whatever.” He ignores my statement and continues to think out loud, mostly to himself as if I weren’t in the room. “But then, out of nowhere, she starts asking me all these questions about you. It makes no sense.” He hesitates, thinking some more. “Probably only brought it up because of the squirrel, but still."
I furrow my brow in confusion. "Did she seriously ask that many questions about me?”
That really does not make a lick of sense, but.
Whatever.
He has to be exaggerating to get a reaction out of me, but why would he do that?
I haven’t expressed an interest in Lizzy, so there’s no need to make me jealous. I’m cool as a fucking cucumber about the subject. He’s the one running a hand through his hair, his expression a mix of bewilderment, amusement, and irritation.
Mostly irritation.
His pride is probably wounded as fuck.
That’s the only reason I can think of for him to be whining about this shit, something he routinely does after a first date, of which there are many.
First date. First fuck.
Then it’s out the front door with a swat on the ass.
"She wanted to know if you were single, if you were dating anyone, if you asked about her... That’s weird, right?”
I shrug because I have no better way to reply. “Chicks are nosy.”
But the knot in my stomach returns, betraying how casual I’m trying to sound.
"I don't know what to say," I admit. "I mean, did you tell her anything?"
Sully nods, a sheepish grin spreading across his face. "Yeah, I couldn't exactly dodge the questions—they were coming at me hard. I told her you were single ‘cause obviously you are. But that you don’t like leaving the house.”
What the fuck! “I leave the house, you prick.”
“But you’d prefer not to leave the house unless it’s for hockey,” he counters, sounding so sure of himself.