Total pages in book: 78
Estimated words: 77422 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 387(@200wpm)___ 310(@250wpm)___ 258(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 77422 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 387(@200wpm)___ 310(@250wpm)___ 258(@300wpm)
The bar was hopping with people. One of those people being the very man that I needed to talk to.
He also looked terrible.
“I know,” Dean teased. “I’m just warming you up so later you…”
“Wow, July! Is that you?” a male voice exclaimed from behind me.
I turned to find a man who didn’t look familiar at all behind me, and a woman on his arm that looked anything but happy to see her man conversing with me.
“Uh, yeah,” I said. “But, I’m sorry, I can’t place who you are.”
Dean snorted a laugh beside me, and I turned a frown his way before turning back to the man.
He was tall, and, actually, still in pretty good shape compared to the rest of the men from this class.
“Joseph Perry,” he said, a smile on his face. “You used to sit next to me in band.”
My brows furrowed, and then understanding dawned.
“The tuba player!” I replied. “You look nothing like what you used to look like.”
Joseph smiled and reached for a drink, offering the man behind the bar a twenty to pay for the beers he’d just handed him.
Joseph handed the woman at his side a beer and then turned back to me.
“I lost seventy pounds, got rid of the braces and shaved off the long hair,” he explained. “This is my wife, Margie. Margie, this is the girl I was telling you about that I used to play tuba with.”
My brows went up, and Margie’s demeanor changed to one of understanding.
“The only one that used to include him at lunch,” Margie said softly. “It’s nice to finally meet you.”
My face flushed.
Yes. Joseph and I used to be the only two people in the entire graduating class that weren’t part of the ‘in’ crowd.
He was also the only person, besides me, who’d skipped every single school function we could manage to get our way out of.
“You used to play tuba?” Dean asked happily. “How?”
I burst out laughing, drawing the attention of half the bar.
I abruptly stopped and smiled sheepishly at Dean, who was full out grinning.
“The band director chose what we played,” I explained to him. “We didn’t get a choice with what we played when we first got into band, and since the tuba could be rented from the school, I stuck with it.”
Understanding came over him, and he nodded, throwing his arm around my shoulder and pulling me into his protective embrace.
“This is Dean,” I introduced him to the two people standing in front of him. “He’s my…”
“Boyfriend,” Dean finished for me, a small smile gracing his lips.
My heart kicked a few beats at those words and lightened as the two men started to talk about their jobs.
In fact, the next hour or so went much better than I expected…that was until Jensen and Barrett took a seat at our table, rendering me unable to talk.
Barrett Riley hadn’t fared well over the last ten years, either.
Gone were the abs and charming boyish face. Now he looked ugly, mean, and like a…well…rapist.
Which, in my opinion, was sickening.
I couldn’t stand looking at him.
Lucky for me, I had a man at my table who didn’t mind talking. Which he proved as he engaged both Jensen and Barrett in a conversation without me having to do a damn thing.
The more Jensen looked at me, his eyes calculating, the more I seemed to get closer and closer to Dean.
By the time the awards for ‘best of 2006’ came around, I was practically on top of Dean.
“Do you want to sit in my lap?” he teased, his hands running down the length of my hair.
I shook my head.
“No,” I whispered. “I want to leave.”
He hummed, and the vibration of his chest had my eyes closing in pleasure.
Ignoring the way the lady speaking droned on and on, I turned my face up to Dean.
“How’d you learn to cook so well?” I asked him, trying to distract myself from the hellhole I’d walked into.
He must’ve sensed my evasion technique because he ran with it, explaining in detail about his parents. His mother, and his absent military father.
“You were an army brat?” I asked.
“Yep,” he confirmed. “Still am, technically. Pop’s still in.”
How this had never come up in our six months of dating was beyond me.
“Wow,” I said. “How old is he?”
“Nearly sixty. The second weekend of next month will be his party,” he informed me. “It’s a blue tie affair, and I’ll be expected to attend. Which means so will you.”
I blinked in confusion.
“So will I what?”
“You’ll be expected to attend,” he explained.
“Why in the world would I be expected to attend?” I asked in alarm.
He gave me a wide smile.
“When I tell my mom about us tomorrow, on our usual Sunday morning chat, she’ll demand that I bring you,” he informed me.
My mouth dropped open.
“Why would you tell her about me?” I murmured frantically, trying to keep my voice low.