Total pages in book: 91
Estimated words: 86828 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 434(@200wpm)___ 347(@250wpm)___ 289(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 86828 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 434(@200wpm)___ 347(@250wpm)___ 289(@300wpm)
“It is the land of bisexual men. They’re pretty to look at and are super sweet, but like all candy, they need to come with an advisory label that they will increase your risk of heart disease.”
“If you want to skip the heartache, stay away from that one.” At the end of my sentence, I nudge my head to the living room. “His hairstyle also wasn’t his choice. I kind of forced it on him.”
Danny’s mouth gapes before he tilts in close. “I smell tea, and I drink it how I like my men. Sweet and black.” I purse my lips, preparing to speak, but am not given the chance. “So spill. I’m dying for some non-coupled gossip.”
I almost hesitate.
Only almost. I haven’t had a girlfriend to gossip with since high school. I’ve missed it as much as I have a relationship with anyone over seventy.
“How long have you got? This may take a while.”
I smile when Danny murmurs, “Honey, if he remains shirtless and your story involves him”—he mimics my head bob to the living room—“I’ve got all week.”
I forgot how good a purge feels. It takes an hour and includes stuff not associated with Christian, but the relief it offers is mammoth.
“Okay.” Danny breathes out slowly before ensuring my focus is on him. “First things first.” His opening suggestion takes me aback. “You need to fix his hair. I have sensory issues. I hate when the drapes don’t match the carpet.” He speaks so fast that I don’t get a chance to interrupt. “Two, you need to eat. He’s not going to poison your food.”
“How can you be so sure?” I ask, shocked by the confidence in his tone.
“Baby girl, I know a man’s I’m-so-hungry stare even when I don’t own the goods he wants to eat.” I stare at him, lost, so he adds, “He’s been devouring your curves from afar since I arrived. He doesn’t want anything to taint them.”
I try to deny his claim, but I can’t. I’ve felt the heat of Christian’s gaze for hours. But that’s all part of the act, isn’t it? He didn’t skip drama classes like Danny did.
Danny shocks me further into silence when I nod, too lethargic from not eating to protest. “Three, and the most important of them all, you need to give him some sugar.” I scoff, and he talks faster. “It isn’t like you have a choice. Only a fool would turn down an E and Willow invite, but if you don’t become bum buddies with him”—he once again drools while staring at Christian—“you won’t be able to leave your apartment until the new year.” I’m lost, and mercifully, Danny knows it. “Possessions are nine-tenths of the law. He has a signed tenancy agreement. Yours is expired. I’m not a lawyer, but that makes it seem as if your possibility of being ousted is as strong as his. I wouldn’t leave your apartment for anything.”
“You just said I can’t leave my apartment while at the same time saying I can’t miss Willow and E’s function.”
Danny’s face screws up. “Yeah. And?”
“How can I do both?”
He sheeshas me like I can’t possibly be this daft. “What do you think the sugar comment was about?” Although he is asking a question, he continues talking as if he didn’t. “You make him think his ploy is working, then invite him to the party as your plus-one.” Since he believes he has everything worked out, he heads for the door. “Once you have him wrapped around your little finger, break his heart and then send him my way so I can kiss his boo-boos better.”
I laugh when it dawns that his ruse is more about him than me. “I didn’t realize your apartment was a two-bedder.”
He hits me with a frisky wink. “It isn’t.” His bottom lip lowers before he grasps my hand, his mood instantly turning serious. “Please don’t miss this party. I feel like this event will do wonders for you.”
I feel the same way, so instead of telling him I’ll consider his plan, I nod as if he is a genius before showing him the way out.
12
CHRISTIAN
“Hey.”
I pretend I haven’t been eyeing Angel from a distance for several hours when her head pops into the living room. She’s been banging and crashing in the kitchen since her neighbor left. I would have believed she was cooking up a feast for six if I hadn’t noticed her bare cabinets when I endeavored to make her a hearty breakfast. She has one plate, fork, spoon, and mug. There are no frying pans, mixers, or cooking materials. Her kitchen cupboards are as bare as every other closet in her apartment—and it pisses me off to no end.
I’ve never experienced a building supervisor so in the wrong before, and I’ve handled my fair share of them. I just can’t let Mrs. Richler know I’m on to her until I can ensure my exit from Angel’s apartment won’t permanently ostracize me from her life.