Total pages in book: 133
Estimated words: 126589 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 633(@200wpm)___ 506(@250wpm)___ 422(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 126589 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 633(@200wpm)___ 506(@250wpm)___ 422(@300wpm)
He nodded curtly. It wasn’t his best, but she seemed to like it, and he always acknowledged his work—good or bad.
“It’s mine. A spur-of-the-moment doodle that the waitress spotted when I was getting ready to leave one day. She called the owner over and he asked if he could buy it. I gave it to him—I refuse to take payment for shoddy work. And the next time I came here, they’d had it framed and up on the wall. Now they keep giving me this fucking table if it happens to be open when I arrive.”
“I think that’s awesome. Like they’ve marked your table with your sketch.”
He grunted in acknowledgment, an ill-mannered sound that would have made his paternal gran cringe in horror.
“So, I’ve been thinking,” she said—after they’d placed their drink orders—and he groaned.
“Those words always terrify me. They never bode well for me,” he said.
“Don’t be ridiculous,” she said with a laugh.
“Go on, lay it on me, what horrible, possibly apocalyptic thoughts have you been entertaining?”
“We’ll have to take my car to the engagement party.”
“Yeah, right, Scrappy,” he chuckled. “Sing another tune.”
“I’m serious. The bike was fun and everything, and maybe I’ll want to go on another ride after today, but we’ll have luggage and be dressed to the nines and I refuse to show up at some posh place to meet your rich family looking all wind-blown and disgusting.”
“You could never look disgusting,” he defended her valiantly, and the amount of side-eye she gave him told him exactly how unimpressed she was with that staunch disclaimer.
“We have to take my car,” she insisted.
“I have a car,” he told her, and she raised her brows in blatant disbelief.
“You’re borrowing one from a friend?”
“No, I actually own a car. It’s parked at a storage facility. I take it for a drive a few times a month to keep the battery charged and to give the engine a work out.”
“Oh.” He could tell she was surprised and he wasn’t sure why.
“I would think that a car would be too boring and predictable for a guy like you.”
“Depends on the car,” he drawled.
Before she could respond their server returned with their drinks—a glass of chenin blanc for Beth and a craft beer for Gideon.
“So what kind of car?”
“One with four wheels and an engine. And a fuckton more leg room than that Barbie car you drive.”
“My car is amazing and I won’t have you disparaging her any longer,” she warned him, glaring at him over her glasses.
She was wearing his favorite glasses again and it was perfect for adding the appropriate amount of gravity to her glare.
“I still haven’t worked the kinks out of my back after my last experience in your ‘car’,” he used the air quotes to goad her. It worked beautifully if the flash of annoyance in her eyes was anything to go by. “Not an experience I’m eager to repeat anytime soon. How’s your wrist, by the way?”
She wasn’t wearing the brace any longer and he was almost certain she should’ve been wearing it for at least another few days.
“Much better. Barely a twinge.”
“Shouldn’t you still be wearing that brace?”
“The doctor did say I could leave it off once an appropriate amount of time had passed and if it wasn’t hurting any longer.”
“I’m glad it’s healing so well.”
She nodded and rotated her wrist as if to confirm to herself that it really was getting better.
“So how was your date?” he asked, and she lifted her eyes from her wrist to meet his eyes.
“He was nice. We talked and laughed a bit.”
“You going to see him again?” He tensed while waiting for her response. Really hoping she’d say no, and not knowing why the fuck it mattered to him in the first place.
“Probably not. We have little in common.”
He let out a silent, relieved sigh, and wouldn’t have been able to keep the resulting smile from his face for all the money in the world.
“So what did he do wrong?”
“What makes you assume he did something wrong?”
“Because you’d have a good reason to kick him to the curb.”
“What if I’m the one who did something wrong?”
“You? I wouldn’t believe that for a second. You’re amazing and can do no wrong, remember?”
Beth tilted her head, likely looking for the sarcasm, the acerbity…but there was none. He meant it, she was amazing and that Adam guy—any guy really—would be lucky to have her.
“What kind of game are you playing?” She was unable to keep the suspicion out of her voice.
“No game. He’d be lucky to have you. So what did he do?”
“He asked me if I’d ever considered writing something creative or fun.”
Wow. What a fucking moron. Anybody with a functioning brain could tell how rewarding Beth found her job when she spoke about it.
“What did you say in response to that?” he asked. Surely, she had torn the fucker a new one? She would have done Gideon.