Total pages in book: 86
Estimated words: 85535 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 428(@200wpm)___ 342(@250wpm)___ 285(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 85535 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 428(@200wpm)___ 342(@250wpm)___ 285(@300wpm)
I try to ignore how smooth her leg looks, averting my eyes and shooting a gaze to Jack, who shrugs as if to say, ‘You’re on your own, bro.’
“Me staying in has nothing to do with a lack of desire to go out with you guys. It’s just—I’m on this deadline.”
“Rome, we are all on a deadline, but that shouldn’t stop you from going out and having some fun with your friends. You stay in way too often.”
She’s not telling me anything I’m not already aware of; pretty sure living with my parents until a few weeks ago is the reason I’m like this. And yes, I know I should get out of my comfort zone and let them take me to the party, but I wouldn’t know what to do with myself there except stand in the corner and feel awkward.
I shift in my seat.
The hot seat.
Don’t look at her chest, Rome—don’t look at her chest.
They look great in that tight t-shirt.
Crap, I just looked.
My eyes just went there, and who would blame me—Lilly is sweet and gorgeous and standing in the middle of my bedroom harassing me about going to a party with her.
With them.
She would never invite me to a party alone—that would almost be like a date, and that’s not what we’re doing. Of course it’s a group thing and she wants me along; we’re friends now.
The friend zone.
Ugh.
Where I’m firmly planted among females near and far for all of eternity.
“You’re set on staying home?” she asks one more time. “There’s no changing your mind?”
She walks over to where I’m sitting and glances over my shoulder, her boobs pressing against my back as she looks at my drawing.
“What is this? A robot?”
“Kind of. It’s called a concept car—it’s a rendering for my final grade in an engineering class. It’s going to take months to design.”
Lilly looks suitably impressed. “That’s neat. What is this?”
She reaches around me and points, pressing her finger against the graph paper to the back part of the car I’m working on. I do each section first and then combine them at the end with an entirely new CAD—or computer aided drawing for those who don’t use the lingo as part of their vocabulary like me.
I can’t concentrate on answering; I can only concentrate on her boobs pressed against my back.
The smell of her is musky and romantic, not fruity or too overpowering—like the seasons and just…good. She smells good. Freshly showered and coiffed.
“It’s…” I swallow. “Uh.”
Her face is so close when she turns her head to grin at me. “It’s, uh? So technical.” She rises to her full height again. “Well. I suppose if you insist on staying home and acting like a hermit, there isn’t anything we can do to convince you. I don’t want to be annoying.”
“I should stay home.” I’m still getting used to the idea of living in a different place—baby steps.
Of course I don’t say any of this; I don’t want to sound like a complete pussy.
“Okay. We’ll be thinking about you.”
Will she be thinking about me while she’s at the party filled with other dudes? Doubtful, but it’s nice that she’s being kind, and a part of me does believe she’ll give me some thought while she is in a throng of people at whatever jock house they’re going to.
“Thanks. Wish me luck and cross your fingers that I am productive.” Chances are I’m going to spend the next few hours staring out the window wishing I had gone along but not really having the motivation to put clean pants on or fake a good time.
Lilly puts her hand on my shoulder and gives it a squeeze. “Good luck.”
It takes a little longer for Eliza to pick out an outfit, but soon the trio are on their way and I’m listening to the sound of Jack’s truck ambling down the street. I wonder how long they’ll be gone, if Lilly will return once the party is over, and if she’ll be drunk.
Alcohol—yet another thing I don’t do a lot of.
I really need to live a little, jeez. What am I doing home on a Friday night when my friends are out having a good time? Goddamn I’m boring; it’s no wonder girls aren’t interested in me.
All I do is study and study some more.
My head gives a little bang against my desktop out of frustration. This is no one’s fault but mine. I’m the one who’s a chickenshit with anxiety about going to this party—it wouldn’t actually kill me or my deadline to pop in for a bit.
I put my pencil back to my paper and do my best to focus my energy on my assignment; it’s not easy, but I manage, fixating on this engine for the next two hours. Before I know it, I’m registering a dark house that is entirely too still, too cold, and too quiet—almost eerily so.