Total pages in book: 85
Estimated words: 79850 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 399(@200wpm)___ 319(@250wpm)___ 266(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 79850 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 399(@200wpm)___ 319(@250wpm)___ 266(@300wpm)
With my purse hooked over the inside of my elbow, I balance the large pizza and bump the car door closed with my hip. The hockey game is going to be starting in about twenty minutes and I want to have my pajamas on and my first slice of pizza on a plate on my lap before they drop the puck.
Bishop and the team flew out this morning for a road game. I didn’t go for a few reasons. First and foremost, it was a short trip, out and back in one day to Houston. The hotel and catering confirmations could be handled via phone. I also wanted to be in the office today in case there was an actual job offer from Sebastian in the Merchandising Department, whether that offer was made to Nanette or me. And last, I didn’t go because I still had a guest in my house.
I unlock my front door without managing to dump the pizza, and when I push it open, my gaze immediately sweeps the interior to locate Nanette. She’s on the couch with the remote pointed toward the TV. She gives me a quick glance over her shoulder before turning back. “Hurry up. The game is going to be starting soon.”
It seems a passable truce has been reached between my houseguest and me. True to her word since her apology three days ago, Nanette has been an overly gracious guest. It made for a nice, stress-free weekend. I’d spent Saturday hanging out at my house doing laundry and general cleanup. Nanette helped out with that and we actually had some easygoing conversation along the way. She came to the game with me that night and was not bent out of shape at all when I told her I was going to stay at Bishop’s place. We offered to drop her somewhere but she said she was just going to hang at my house for the rest of the evening. I thought it was cool that she did not feel the need to go out and party, but Bishop wasn’t buying it. He called it “the calm before the storm.”
Yesterday I spent the entire day with Bishop and it was amazing. We went hiking in Papago Park in the morning and spent the afternoon chilling at his house, which also may have included some hanky-panky of the orgasmic kind. That evening he took me to an out-of-the-way Peruvian restaurant that he had heard good things about. Bishop and I are both adventurous eaters. We dined on seviche, anticuchos—or beef heart kebabs—and salty plantains. We were there for two hours and I don’t know where the time went.
He stayed with me at my house last night. We watched some TV on the couch, and with a full and happy belly, I fell asleep with my head on his lap. I don’t know how I made it into the bed, but I woke up this morning with him kissing my forehead and dashing off to catch the team plane to Houston.
I spent several moments after he left staring at the ceiling and replaying the last few days. We have fallen into a relationship. A real relationship. We haven’t talked about lies, fake engagements, or ways to mollify my father. We talked about each other, we held hands, and we ate meals together. We watched TV and he carried me to bed when I was asleep.
He didn’t even bother to wake me up to have sex, which I totally would’ve met with a big smile on my face.
But he didn’t.
And that somehow makes the relationship all the more real, because it meant that’s not the only reason he stayed the night.
Walking into the living room, I dump the pizza box onto the coffee table. I turn toward the hallway that leads to the bedrooms and call out to Nanette, “I’m going to get my pajamas on. Grab us some plates.”
“Got it,” she says.
It only takes moments to get out of my dress and into a pair of sleep shorts and a camisole top. My feet are always cold, so I put on a pair of fuzzy socks. I wash my face quickly, slapping on some moisturizer, and I’m ready for dinner and a hockey game.
When I make it back into the living room, Nanette has plates, napkins and two bottles of water. She’s already halfway through her first slice of pizza.
“This is really good,” she says while chewing a mouthful. She then nods down to the coffee table and I see a ten-dollar bill lying there. “For my share.”
“Thanks,” I say, once again thankful that Bishop had a talk with Nanette about her manners as a guest.
I settle onto the opposite end of the couch from where she sits after pulling a huge slice of pepperoni pizza onto my plate. It has the appropriate amount of grease on it and I’m hoping it will be close to is good as what we could get in New York, but knowing it will never quite make it.