Total pages in book: 85
Estimated words: 79007 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 395(@200wpm)___ 316(@250wpm)___ 263(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 79007 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 395(@200wpm)___ 316(@250wpm)___ 263(@300wpm)
"Have yourself a lovely night, Miss Washington," he told me as he moved two spots over toward his car.
With a sigh, I climbed into my car and headed back to my apartment, even though I kind of wanted to drive around and mope. I had a delivery man to meet. And an evening to replay over and over and freaking over until it drove me half-mad.
I ate my soup, watching my phone like it might light up at any moment, like he would call or text and be his usual light-hearted self, shrug it off, call it the side effects of a sexy book read aloud in a semi-private place.
But he didn't call.
He didn't text.
Not that night.
Or the next.
Or the next.
My heart started aching somewhere around a week of no contact.
And it didn't stop.
No matter how many book boyfriends I tried to start having a thing with.
Operative word being tried.
I ended up having to quit romance and YA, moving instead to moody attempts to be the 'novel of a generation.'
They distracted.
But not enough.
Nope.
This was one instance in my life when not even fiction helped.
SIX
Cyrus
Fuck.
Nope. That didn't quite cover it.
Fuuuuuuuck.
Why did I pick up that goddamned book?
Why the ever-loving hell did I start reading aloud from it?
It wasn't like I didn't know what I was reading with a cover like that, with the words 'cock' and 'pussy' and 'plug' jumping out at me as soon as I flipped to the page.
I thought that maybe it would be funny.
Reese was always subtly trying to suggest books to me, to get me into stories like she was.
And, though I didn't actually tell her this, when I left her, I went right back to the clubhouse and ordered the shit she suggested on Amazon. So far, she was five-for-five with her recommendations.
I had never exactly been a big reader, though there had been some stories here or there that I had gotten into at school.
But, as Reese had said more than once, there is no such thing as someone who doesn't like reading, only someone who hasn't found the right book yet.
Why didn't I tell her? I didn't really know. I thought maybe it would be cool to be able to surprise her if she ever brought one of them up again by being able to small talk about it.
She would love that.
And that mattered to me.
It shouldn't have, certainly not as much as it did.
But there it was.
Reese, the girl I wanted but couldn't put my damn hands on.
And I couldn't.
That was clear.
The more time I spent with her, the more transparent that fact became. Which sucked, because the more time I spent with her, the more I fucking wanted her.
If I could think of a single word for Reese, well, she was goddamned delightful.
Yeah, I said it.
Motherfucking delightful.
It was the only word that did her even a tiny bit of justice.
And it still fell woefully short.
I'd known a metric fuckload of women.
And she blew them all out of the water.
She was sweet, but there was also some undercurrent of steel, of self-assuredness that apparently came from being raised by a single mom. She was well-read, of course, but also a fan of some movies and shows which she had very strong opinions on. She was deeply invested in her family, though she had been oddly tight-lipped regarding any specifics of them. Aside from knowing her sister's name, all I knew was she had two older brothers, a mom, aunts, and a grandmother who was ailing.
Oh, and she loved her damned grandmother sweaters.
Why, I had no idea. But she was always wearing one. And her collection seemed never-ending.
"Mooning over your coffeeshop girl still?" Sugar asked as he dropped down across from me in the clubhouse, putting a beer on the coffee table for me.
To say they were enjoying the fuck out of my newfound friendship with Reese would be putting it mildly. Not a single one of them was convinced this wasn't still my 'long game,' as if I would need over a month to seal the deal.
But every single time I left, they assumed I was going to see 'coffeeshop girl.' And, to be fair, a lot of the time I actually was.
Also, they didn't get any details about her, which maybe fueled the fire even more. Not even her name.
She was my secret.
Why, I wasn't sure.
I guess maybe a part of me worried that if they had any details about her at all, that they might try to step in.
True, technically, there wasn't anything to step in on.
Which made it even worse.
She wasn't mine. I had no claim to her. Brotherhood rules didn't apply. She wasn't off-limits to them. Though she damn well should be. Not a single one of the fucks, no matter how much I loved my brothers, deserved her.