Total pages in book: 81
Estimated words: 79147 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 396(@200wpm)___ 317(@250wpm)___ 264(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 79147 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 396(@200wpm)___ 317(@250wpm)___ 264(@300wpm)
“Hey, man, how’s it going?” he asks, his voice deep like he’s trying to impress me.
“Pretty good.”
We sit across from each other. I make small talk with him about his class, which he says went well. As he talks, he checks his reflection in the mirrored wall occasionally and fixes his dark hair. It’s an odd quirk. I almost feel like I need to slip away to the restroom to give him a minute to make sure his hair’s okay. He drones on about his class for nearly thirty minutes before saying, “So what about you? What do you do?”
“I…um…wait tables over at Mike’s.”
His expression shifts. Now I feel embarrassed.
“Oh, you just wait tables?”
Just?
“Is that a problem?”
“Well, I mean, what are you going into, I guess? Are you in school still?”
“No. Not in school.”
He’s totally judging me because I’m a waiter. Does he think he’s better than me because he works at a yoga studio?
He’s not the first guy who’s treated me like this. Lance’s friends were always judgy about what I did, but I didn’t expect it from this guy. I doubt he’s making six figures and driving a Mercedes, so who is he to judge me?
When Cody found out what I did, he didn’t make me feel like crap. Neither do Gary or Derek or Travis. And I know from helping them with their finances that every single one of them makes more money than I do.
“That’s cool, I guess,” he says, but the way he says it, he sounds like that’s not cool at all. “We can still have fun.”
He winks, and I can tell he means we can fuck around, but I’m not a viable option as anything other than a hookup. While normally I would be totally cool with that, the way he says it makes screwing around the last thing in the world I’d want to do with this guy.
I want this date to end. Now.
My phone vibrates in my pocket, which is a relief because it gives me an excuse to get out of this awkward situation.
It’s a message from Gary.
GARY: What are you doing? Derek and I are heading to Flirt in a bit.
ME: I’m stuck on a date from hell at Henry’s with that hot yoga instructor. SOS
GARY: LOL Let us know if you want to meet up later.
I would rather be hanging with them, but I don’t know how to get out of this date outside of telling this guy he’s acting like an ass and that I’ve lost any interest in fucking around with him. And that takes a lot. A whole fucking lot.
The conversation returns to his yoga studio and then starts to sound like a motivational speech about how he went from taking on a few clients to having several hundreds of clients. I stop listening, but he doesn’t detect my disinterest…or just doesn’t give a shit whether or not I’m paying attention to him.
By the time I finish my chicken tenders and tater tots, I want to find an easy escape, but he says, “So your place or mine? Where do you live?”
A million miles away…and I wish I was there right fucking now.
“Metropolis,” I say.
His eyes light up.
“Oh, well, you’re right down the street. What do you say we head on over?”
I need to ditch him, but a part of me thinks to make any of tonight worth it, I need to get this over with. It’ll be sex, and at least it’ll help me break this dry spell. I can tough through it. Although, since I’ve had to endure this conversation with him, he doesn’t even seem that attractive anymore, despite the abs and nice ass.
I guess I’ll do it, though. Won’t kill me. “I…uh—”
“There you are!” A familiar, high-pitched voice comes from across the restaurant.
I turn sharply to see Derek storming toward us. In a button-up shirt that stresses his fit form, his sleeves rolled up to his biceps, his hips jerk side to side as he struts toward us, a dead-serious expression on his face.
He stops right beside our booth and turns to me, his gaze shifting between the two of us.
“What the fuck is happening here?” he asks.
Roger’s eyes wander as he seems to be trying to figure out what the hell is going on, and I’m just as curious, as are a lot of the guests around us.
Derek runs his fingers through his blond locks and tilts his head to the side, giving me the stink eye. “I thought we said we were exclusive.”
Gary must’ve shown him my text and gotten him to help me out. Thank God!
“Oh, I…”
“Did you think I wasn’t going to find out that you’re messing with my hot yoga instructor? Really? You know what. It’s fucking over. Over, I say!”
Oh my God. He’s so overdramatic about it. There’s no fucking way Roger’s buying it, but as I look to him, I see this worried look on his face.