Total pages in book: 138
Estimated words: 129460 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 647(@200wpm)___ 518(@250wpm)___ 432(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 129460 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 647(@200wpm)___ 518(@250wpm)___ 432(@300wpm)
Caleb’s eyes lift to me when I enter the living room of his apartment to deliver the spatula Octavia requested only minutes ago. He takes in my hued cheeks and the ruddiness of my lips before his eyes drop to my dress.
It’s modest for a bachelorette party, but since Bailey’s celebration is more a bridal shower than a raging event with strippers and neon clothing like Heidi’s do, a miniskirt seemed inappropriate.
Although the jealousy flaring in Caleb’s eyes has me wishing I’d hunted into the back of my closet for my slutty dresses.
“Hey, Jess.”
I shift on my feet to face Octavia, my greeter. She looks happy—really happy—and it has me wondering if her 911 was merely for a spatula this time around. Usually, it’s code for when she needs saving. “Was I meant to leave this with them?” I hook my thumb to her front door. “With how pricy their couture outfits look, I doubt they’ll know how to use it.”
Octavia laughs at my witty comment before her brows pull together. “Leave it with who?”
“Jack and a woman who looks nothing like his type.”
I’m striving to ease the worry marring Octavia’s beautiful face, but all it seems to do is double it. “They’re meant to be getting the wine.” Octavia pauses for a second to seek a positive before muttering, “Maybe they forgot there’s no elevator?”
“That wouldn’t be shocking considering Jack’s houses…” I emphasis the ‘s’ on the end of houses to ensure Octavia doesn’t forget how wealthy he is before adding, “… most likely have private elevators.”
Octavia’s giggles are cut short when she yanks open the door, catching Jack and the woman I referenced earlier in a heated conversation. “You’re not waiting on the elevator, are you?” When Jack shakes his head, Octavia grimaces. “Sorry.” She spins to face Caleb and me for only a second before she twists back to face Jack, “If you needed a minute to talk, you could have just said that. You didn’t need to lie.”
“Octav—”
“It’s fine, Jack.” Although she is facing Jack, not all her words are for him. Some are for Caleb. “I’m just saying you don’t have to wrap me in cotton wool. I’m not going to break because someone says something bad about me. We’re not flawless creatures. Our faults are sometimes what makes us the great people we are.” As my eyes shoot to Caleb to gauge his reaction to Octavia’s claims, Octavia adds, “Once you’ve finished your chat, come join us.” She sucks in a quick breath I only hear instead of seeing since I’m too busy returning Caleb’s prolonged stare. “If that’s what you want. No pressure. Just in case.” Another short pause. “It was lovely meeting you. Bye.”
She steals Jack’s chance to reply by shutting the door then resting her back on it.
After inhaling a quick breath to lessen the heat on her cheeks, she hooks her thumb to the empty seat next to Caleb, then demands that I ‘sit.’
“I’ll—” She cuts off my reply with a stern sideways glance. “Sit. I’ll sit.”
My neck prickles with goose bumps when Caleb leans into my side and says, “Did you have somewhere more important you need to be?”
“Not yet,” I deny like a loser. “But no one likes to be the odd woman out.” When I sense his frown, I angle my head to peer at him. He looks confused. It’s a cute expression not many men can pull off. “One… two… three… four…” I count out the guests before pointing to myself. “Five. That’s an odd number, which means someone is going to be left out.”
Caleb is a natural flirt, but I can’t hide my grin when he murmurs, “Poor Marissa.” He sinks deeper into his chair, then spreads his thighs wide so they brush with mine. He uses his appeal to lower my defenses before interrogating me. It is the way he operates. “Are you drinking tonight?” When I jerk up my chin, he works his jaw side to side before asking, “Do you want me to drive you there?”
I should have known he wouldn’t forget about Bailey’s bachelorette party, but instead of seeing it as an event with cucumber sandwiches and funky-tasting tea, he’s pondering the psycho we may get from a middle-of-the-week event.
* * *
I smile a slick grin to announce I’m onto him before replying, “It’s okay. I ordered an Uber.” Incapable of not forcing his jealousy to be exposed, I add, “And who knows how late I’ll be.”
“It’s a middle-of-the-week party—”
“Exactly,” I shout, perhaps a little too loudly. “That’s when all the loonies come out.”
He grumbles under his breath, but before I can decipher a single syllable, a clatter sounds from the kitchen. Octavia’s foot loses traction on the over-glossed tiles separating the kitchen from the living room. She tries to maintain her balance, and she almost wins until she forgets to counter in the weight of the mousse cake balancing precariously on her palms. I doubt it weighs much, but with her yanking her arm back like it is as hefty as a bowling ball, it slips off the serving dish and lands in the middle of her chest with a soundless whoosh.