Total pages in book: 69
Estimated words: 66289 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 331(@200wpm)___ 265(@250wpm)___ 221(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 66289 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 331(@200wpm)___ 265(@250wpm)___ 221(@300wpm)
Wasting no time, I program her number into my phone and hit the shower. An hour later, I’m cruising across town, windows down on this uncharacteristically balmy winter day. I found a new lounge on the west side of town in this trendier neighborhood that I think she’s going to like—not that she’s into trendy shit, but it’s definitely the kind of respectable place where you can kick off a hot date with a couple of drinks.
Fifteen minutes later, I’m pulling into Bette’s driveway.
I check my reflection in the rearview, finger comb my hair into place, and make my way to the front door.
I barely knock twice when it swings open and Bette stands there in her curlers and robe, wearing a wide grin that sets off her sparkling gray eyes.
“Hey there, handsome,” she teases, before calling over her shoulder, “Irie! He’s here!”
I smirk. She’s fucking adorable, she really is. I wish I had an Aunt Bette in my life.
“Okay, I’m ready.” Irie appears from behind Bette a moment later, squeezing past in her little black shorts, fuck-me heels, and strapless top. I try not to be obvious when I drink her in from head to toe—or when my gaze settles on her juicy red pout.
Red lip gloss—does she really thinks that’s going to stop me from kissing her tonight?
“You want to stare a little longer or can we get going?” she asks, giving my shoulder a soft punch with her fist.
“I’m sorry. It’s just …” I meet her gaze with a silent apology. “I’m the luckiest bastard in the world to get to take you out, that’s all.”
“Staaahp. You talked me into a second date. At this point I think you can dial down the flattery,” she says as she walks down the steps and makes her way to the car, her heels clicking against the pavement with each long-legged stride.
“Not flattering you. Just being honest,” I say, maneuvering around her and getting the passenger door.
Making my way to the driver’s side, I catch her checking her reflection in the side mirror for two seconds—proof that she wants to look good for me … which is also proof that she cares what I think of her … which is also proof that she’s beginning to like me.
Even if she won’t admit it yet.
We’re on our second round of drinks at the Hyacinth when my filter loosens and my impatience wears off.
“I think we should date exclusively,” I tell her.
She places her drink down so hard a bit of pink liquid sloshes over the rim and falls on her marble coaster.
“Whoa, whoa, whoa. Warn a girl before you drop a bombshell like that,” she says. “Shouldn’t we wait and see how the rest of the night goes? We’re only thirty minutes into our second date. A little early to start talking all crazy.” Her words are slow and relaxed and her eyes are smiling. She’s making light of this, brushing it off like I’m half-kidding, half-flirting.
“Irie, I’m being serious,” I say.
She twists the stem of her cocktail glass between her thumb and forefinger, the nails of which are painted the color of snow. “What’s the point of labels anyway, you know?”
“I used to say the exact same thing. But now I’m thinking there’s something sexy about it. So much implied in that one little word. Boyfriend. Girlfriend. Whatever. If I told someone you were my girlfriend, it’d take all of two seconds for them to know exactly how I feel about you.”
“I signed a contract today,” she says, taking a sip. “I’ll be starting a job in Malibu two weeks after graduation.”
“That’s great,” I say.
She laughs through her pointed nose. “You don’t mean that.”
“You’re right.” I exhale. “I mean, I’m sorry. I’m happy for you. I am. Hell. Landing a job straight out of school is big. Congrats.”
I lift my glass and clink it against the rim of hers.
“You’re going to Richmond in a few months, I’m going to Malibu,” she says. “I’m flattered that you want to date me exclusively, but there’s really no point. We’re young. We’ve got our whole lives ahead of us. And we both know long-distance relationships don’t work. Life’s already complicated enough, don’t you think?”
“Can’t you technically work anywhere?”
“With Kira Kepner? No. She’s only based in California.”
“No, I mean as a designer.”
“Well, yeah, but Kira offered me my dream job and a six-figure salary. I’d be insane to walk away from that …”
She doesn’t finish her thought, but she doesn’t have to. I already know what she was implying, and she isn’t wrong. She’d be insane to walk away from her dream job to follow some guy she barely knows across the country so he can live his best life.
“I can’t believe you’d even suggest that.”
“I’m sorry.” I exhale. “I didn’t realize it was your dream job. You never talk about it that much … I had no idea how much it meant to you.”