Total pages in book: 101
Estimated words: 104745 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 524(@200wpm)___ 419(@250wpm)___ 349(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 104745 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 524(@200wpm)___ 419(@250wpm)___ 349(@300wpm)
“You look fine.”
“Fine as in fine? Or fine as in, damnnn you look fine.”
Ryann ignores my question. “Wear that.” She motions with her hand up and down my outfit. “And stop being annoying.”
We shoot the shit for a few more minutes before I have to be out the door; it wouldn’t be cool to be late for my first date with Daisy—late isn’t my brother’s style, so tonight it cannot be mine.
“Good luck.” Ryann laughs.
I lift my hand as I bound down the stairs, grateful we have the truck Dallas left behind so I don’t have to walk across town to the bar & grill where I’m meeting Daisy.
The same bar and grill Drew does his first dates—or at least the last one I crept on.
The dude is so predictable.
No offense to my brother, but he’s way too patient and way too regimented. I am too, just not when it comes to anything other than football. With football, we have to be.
Everything else?
Pfft.
But Drew, man, he plans everything out down to the hour. I mean, shit—would I have sent a body double to a class to take notes because I had more important things to do? No fucking way.
I would have ditched without thinking twice about it.
In fact, when I was a freshman I skipped classes all the time, giving zero fucks. As long as I did okay on the exams, I was good to go… What the hell do I need good grades for, it’s not like I need a backup plan. My life is set.
I’m going to play professional football the same way my father and older brothers do, goddamn legends the entire lot of us. And Drew will follow suit because that’s what we were raised to do.
So I ask you: what the hell does he need the good grades for? What is he so flipping concerned with friggin’ science and Mass Comm for? Daisy has been right under his nose for the good part of a semester, and it hadn’t occurred to him to ask her out? Had he noticed her?
I don’t know what my brother’s deal is lately, but whatever this slump is, I’m going to get him out of it.
Nothing regular sex can’t help, with the same person.
I’m literally a saint for doing this.
My head is high when I march into the bar, eyes scanning for Daisy, presuming she’s as anal retentive as my brother, all assumptions correct when I spot her walking out of the restroom at the back.
She gives me a little wave.
I give her an appreciative glance.
Tight jeans up over her waist. Tucked in black tee shirt.
Long, brown hair down. Wavy.
Huge hoop earrings.
Casual but sexy. Trying but not too hard. Flawless but a bit chaotic.
Dang, Daisy.
My chest stirs when she smiles, a sassy crooked hello when she stops in the center of the place, pointing at the bar.
“Bar or a booth?”
Huh?
“Do you want to sit at the bar or in a booth?”
Oh.
Right.
Drew would sit in a booth. I’d rather sit at the bar—but this isn’t about me now, is it?
“A booth is good.”
Daisy plops down in the nearest one, scooting to the center, the whole thing swallowing her whole.
I join her.
I immediately question the wisdom of bringing her to a bar, rather than, say—to the park or roller blading or rock climbing but then again, I am not my brother.
What do I know about what makes a good first date? I haven’t had a real one in years. Banging after a party doesn’t count, and parties don’t count, period.
A server comes and takes our drink order.
“Can we get an order of wings, too, right away? And onion rings? I’m starving.” Daisy looks over at me. “I hope you don’t mind. I haven’t eaten all day, and if I don’t eat something now, I’ll get drunk.”
“Onion rings?” I pull a face. “I take it you’re not plannin’ on makin’ out with me later?”
Shit. Drew never would have said that.
I bite my tongue.
“Um. No,” Daisy says in reply, ordering herself a cocktail and a water. “You’re funny.”
Yup, that’s me. I’m hilarious.
Speaking of making out, I study her face.
Lips.
Hair.
She’s cute—really fucking cute without the baseball hat and the irritated attitude.
Way more relaxed, she takes a drink of water as soon as it’s set down, leaning back and crossing her hands. Longer fingers. Painted nails.
I can’t help noticing these things I failed to see the first time we met; then again, she was sitting in front of me, my view was only the back of her head and profile during class.
Obviously, the pictures on the dating app don’t do her justice, but I’m not dumb enough to tell her that to her face.
“So. You have a twin,” Daisy blurts out with no warning and no other salutation, getting straight to the point.
“I do.”
Daisy looks at me—really looks hard—studying every square inch of my face until I shift in my seat uneasily.