Total pages in book: 153
Estimated words: 145123 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 726(@200wpm)___ 580(@250wpm)___ 484(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 145123 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 726(@200wpm)___ 580(@250wpm)___ 484(@300wpm)
This morning, though, with all the raging thoughts in my head about Brooke and the crack-of-dawn drive I had to finish to get us to San Antonio, is proving to be too much. I have to do something about it before I’m the one passed out on the floor—without the excuse of vasovagal syncope.
I have to fix things, and I have to do it now. Detrimental or not, I have to find a way back to the ease and humor I’ve established with Brooke and let this whole headcase freak-out about falling in love or something equally ridiculous go. Between the producer’s assumptions and Mo’s teasing text message, I got thinking too hard about a simple crush on a truly great woman.
So what if I like her? That doesn’t mean I have to act on it. I’m a grown man, for shit’s sake. I can lean into the fun of her company without letting it go too far. I’ve got willpower, right? These are the situations that we have it for.
Determined to meet my discomfort head on by booting it in the face, I take out my phone and send a quick message to answer Mo’s text from yesterday.
Me: Sorry, we’ve been pretty busy! The tour is going great, and Brooke’s impressing people all over the place. So far, I’ve yet to find a reader more obsessed with her books than you.
I don’t bother to clarify that the people she’s impressing include me.
Me: And I bet you can find the Wake Up, New Orleans show from yesterday online if you look hard enough.
She responds in thirty seconds flat.
Mo: OMGGGGGGGod, I can’t believe you’re finally texting me back! I saw the show! I even saw you in one of the shots when the camera panned!
Danger! Danger! Warnings flash in my mind about the perilous road the rest of these messages could travel, and I shove my phone back into my pocket without remorse, even as it buzzes over and over again.
The last thing I need is to read something from Mo that sends me back into a Brooke-ignoring tailspin. I haven’t even fixed the damage from the first time yet.
I swipe a hand at my sweat-beaded forehead and set out to find Brooke. The only good part about a motor home is that there aren’t many places to look when the object you’re trying to detect is a full-sized human.
The bathroom door is open but the bedroom door closed, so I start there at the back of the bus with a soft knock on the wood. “Brooke?” I call through the somewhat-thin barrier, feeling like the knock isn’t efficient enough.
There’s a light bark from Benji, followed by the rustling sound of bedding, and then a door-muted murmur from Brooke. “One second!”
I back away from the door, fully out of the tiny hallway and into the living room space beside the dining booth to give her some room. The space between the end of the bed and the door is already tight when you swing it open, and my looming presence in the hall would only make it worse.
It might also cause a redo of the other night… My mind tries to remind me about the last time Brooke and I were confined too closely—when I had just gotten out of the shower—but I squash that fucker like a bug.
When she finally emerges, she’s wearing an oversized sweatshirt, leggings, and the puffy skin of someone in distress. I hate it so much—especially the thought that I might have caused it—that I start rapidly spewing words.
“Hey, Brooke. Good morning. Do you think we could talk for just a minute?”
Her eyebrows lift, but after a moment of consideration, she nods. I extend an arm in offering toward the booth, and she walks forward with her eyes tucked closely to the floor.
I miss them instantly.
She takes a seat, and I go straight to the coffeepot, grab a mug out of the cabinet above it, and pour her a heavy cup.
I add her preferred amounts of cream and sugar, and then set it on the table in front of her before sliding into the side across from her.
She lifts the mug to take a sip, and I dive right into clearing my conscience.
“I want to start by apologizing for…well, the last day or so. I know I’ve been acting a little weird, and I don’t want you to think it has anything to do with you.”
Like it would have anything to do with anyone else, considering you’ve been fused together as a twosome on a three-week tour…
“I think the combination of stress and sleep loss and all the driving was getting to me.”
Her face is one of relief, and oddly enough, that makes me feel worse. Because that means I was taking it out on her unjustly, and she’s been feeling noticeably ostracized this whole time—which is not the ideal feeling I want for someone I care about.