Total pages in book: 101
Estimated words: 97548 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 488(@200wpm)___ 390(@250wpm)___ 325(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 97548 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 488(@200wpm)___ 390(@250wpm)___ 325(@300wpm)
“Why? If I lowah my voice you wouldn’t be able to hear me tell you how douchie you’re being.” Bernie takes a swig of his cocktail. “You’re twenty-three years old. Quit acting like you’re in middle school.”
I think about this for a minute. “Well. It’s not like I’m just going to just bust over there. She’s in a group full of girls, for fuck’s sake. It would look too obvious.”
Weston grins and says, handing me his half empty beer bottle. “That, my friend, is where I come in.” He sets off in the direction of Molly and Co. and I falter, hesitant to follow him.
Then suddenly I realize: they might be right.
Maybe I am a pussy.
Shit.
I swallow the last of my drink, then down the rest of Weston’s, leaving me no choice but to follow him.
Cecelia
I know he’s approaching.
Not because I can see him, but because his friends are so damn loud. Four grown men dressed like lady doctors, hooting, hollering, and whistling like a bunch of fraternity boys as Weston and Matthew lead their way through the crowd towards us.
I’m pretty sure I just heard one of them yell “Tap that ass!”
Matthew tails several feet behind Weston, almost hesitantly - as if this wasn’t his choice. I covertly watch him from above the rim of my glass (yes… the same drink I’ve been holding onto the entire time we’ve been here), taking teeny tiny sips just so I can watch him walking without being obvious.
I cannot take my eyes off his face. The fact that he’s wearing eye liner is getting me so hot-and-bothered I accidentally take a giant gulp of my warm Pineapple Vodka and Sprite, choking a little and turning beet red.
Molly elbows me (for the fifth time tonight) and leans in. “Brace yourself. Shit is about to get real.” Her deer antlers poke me in the side of the head and I swat her away.
“Oh my god, get away with those damn things. Would you stop?” I hiss.
“Seriously though, look at Matthew. It looks like he’s about to wet his pants.” Molly twitches her black painted nose, the little white fawn freckles she’s painted on her cheeks catching the light.
She looks pretty darn adorable.
“I should get a picture of this moment for Instagram.”
Okay. Not so adorable…
Molly smacks the drink away from my mouth as I go to take another gulp. “Stop chugging your drink Cece. Yuck. That thing must be piss warm by now. Here. Take mine and I’ll get myself a new one while you and my brother awkwardly make doe eyes at each other.” She grabs my cocktail glass and hands me hers. “Get it? Doe eyes?” Then Molly turns on her heels, making a beeline towards the bar, the little white tail pinned to her butt wagging.
Weston changes course and goes after her.
As a country song about a girl in a red sundress, pickup trucks, creeks and cornfields plays overhead (yes, for real), I paste a smile on my face hoping it doesn’t make me look constipated, and then he’s there, standing in front of me.
And… is it just me, or does he look nervous? Molly was right. He does look like he’s about to wet his pants.
Surely this cannot be.
“Hi!” I yell over the noise. “Having fun?”
“Totally. Thanks for the invitation.”
I cock an eyebrow at him because we both know he invited himself to the party.
He laughs and bumps me with his shoulder. “I’m just teasing. We both know I forced my sister to bring me along.”
“Well I think it worked out well for everyone. Molly seems glad you’re here. You two don’t hang out very often at the same places, do you?”
“No. I mean… I’m only in town for half the year. The other half I’m in California, working.”
Well, if that isn’t a healthy dose of reality. I look him up and down appraisingly and change the subject. “I don’t know if I mentioned this before, but… I really like your costume. Very… rouge-ish.”
Matthew plants a hand on his hip and cocks his head at me, grinning. “Rogue-ish? Did you just make that up?”
“Mmmm. I’m pretty sure it’s a word. And if it’s not, it should be.” I smile up at him. Even in these heels he’s taller than I am. “Digging the eyeliner in a big way.”
He leans in. “I’m sorry, what was that?” He points to his ear. Crap. He can’t hear me over the music.
I suck in my breath and move close enough to get a good whiff of him; sweat and cologne, my favorite combination. “I said ‘Digging the eyeliner in a big way.”
“Oh yeah? That’s good to know.”
“Do you plan on wearing it from now on?”
He pretends to think about it, tapping his chin in thought, and breathes into my ear, “Maybe on special occasions.”
“I can’t think of any ‘special occasions’ where eyeliner would be appropriate. Unless of course, you’re going to change your everyday look.”