Total pages in book: 106
Estimated words: 100060 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 500(@200wpm)___ 400(@250wpm)___ 334(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 100060 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 500(@200wpm)___ 400(@250wpm)___ 334(@300wpm)
“What do you mean?” I ask, narrowing my eyes at Banks.
The rugby coach lets out an exhale, shakes his head. “I can’t find the adequate words to explain it. Except to say…she never felt like a stranger. Not for a single second. I wanted to protect her immediately. I wanted her to…”
“Like you?” Tobias supplies, seeming to shock himself. “Really, genuinely like you. Because she seemed like someone whose opinion matters.”
“Yeah,” Banks and I say at the same time.
We’re all trading wary glances with each other.
Shit. They do get it. I’m not the only one.
* * *
Tobias
* * *
Fucking hell.
What am I doing here?
As galling as it is to admit, I don’t think I’ve got a chance with Elise. She has definitely rubbed a few orgasms out to my impressive visage, but she thinks I’m a twat. Hell, I am a twat. Talking about sex and making filthy insinuations is part of my charm. However, I’m usually capable of turning it off in mixed company. Tonight? I couldn’t. It doesn’t make any sense. I wanted her to like me and yet, I couldn’t seem to stop doing the very thing that pissed her off.
Almost as if I resented the very need to be liked.
My therapist—the real reason I was on Roosevelt Island—would be impressed.
Whatever the reason I behaved like a boor, here I am, trying to be part of her fan boy club when I’ve all but obliterated my chance to sleep with her. And fuck me, I really, really want to sleep with her. There’s also the peculiar matter of wanting my chance at keeping her warm. The way Erection Boy and Banks did. That lost opportunity sits in my stomach now like a paperweight. So I drink my piss-poor martini and stay put, the chance of seeing her again keeping me glued to the booth.
Hopefully when I do see her again, this gnawing need to be somehow important to her goes away. Throughout my adult life, I’ve only been important to people if I’m making them money. In some cases, that wasn’t enough. They wanted more. As much as they could squeeze out of me, even if it came at the cost of a friendship. Because at the end of the day, no one really wants to be my friend, do they? They don’t like me, they like what I can do for them.
Sexually.
Financially.
This girl, this Elise, is the first person in a long time whose opinion made me give a shit.
“Right. We have the ID badge. That gives us her last name.” I lean back in my chair, oh so casual, though I’m feeling anything but. “Do any of us still use Facebook? We can probably find Elise there, send her a message.”
“There are two problems with that,” says the coach, immediately.
He’s the smart one.
Gabe is the muscle.
I’m the sexual riptide.
“One,” Banks continues, “who is going to message her? One of us? Or all three? Because it seems like three messages might overwhelm her and none of us will hear shit back.”
“Or she might only message back one of us,” Gabe points out.
“That’s a pretty sizeable risk,” I tell Gabe with a serious expression, completely taking advantage of his naivete, but listen, I am the Least Favorite of this pack and I’ll use every tool at my disposal. “You know how indecisive girls can be. Too many choices and they shut down.”
That’s all bullshit, but again. Least Favorite. I can’t risk her choosing before I have another chance to make an impression. Though I have zero guarantee I’ll do better next time.
Still…
“Probably for the best if we elect a representative to message her on behalf of all three of us,” I say. “Make a plan for all of us to see her again.”
Banks clears his throat. “That brings us to the second problem.”
“Enlighten the group,” I sigh, refusing to let him know I’m interested.
“Do we trust the elected representative?” Banks sips his beer. “I’ll be honest, I’m not sure either of you should trust me not to ask her out. Alone.”
“Same,” Gabe says, his expression saying he holds the winning lottery ticket in his giant mitts. “I’d cook a pot roast for her.”
“And if she’s vegan?” I ask, popping my green olive into my mouth.
Gabe pales.
“Bottom line…” Banks doesn’t look happy about what’s he’s going to say. “Social media leaves too much up to chance. I think it has to be in person.”
I pause mid-chew. “You’re saying we should simply show up at the Gotham Times?”
“She’s going to hate that,” Gabe and Banks say in unison.
“Yeah, she will,” Banks continues, turning his beer in circles on the table. “But I genuinely think we’ve seen the last of her otherwise.”
“He’s right,” I find myself saying. For the life of me, I can’t see Elise answering a Facebook message and agreeing to meet with us. “So we go to the newspaper and…ask her to choose. Is that your shite plan? Because I fancy keeping my balls.”