Total pages in book: 30
Estimated words: 28565 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 143(@200wpm)___ 114(@250wpm)___ 95(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 28565 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 143(@200wpm)___ 114(@250wpm)___ 95(@300wpm)
But it's possible that my own desire is clouding the signals. That her nervousness stems more from fear than need.
"Is something wrong?"
"No. Is something wrong with you?"
I lapse into silence.
She's an adult. She can leave if she wants to. She doesn't have to eat with me.
I have to figure out a place we can eat at in under thirty minutes.
I wonder how busy she is. "How many haircuts do you give in a day?"
"Between fifteen and twenty. More if I have a lot of men. They spend more time with the shampoo girls than in my chair."
"That's a lot of work." Her hands must be sore.
She shrugs dismissively. "Not really. Waiting tables is a lot harder. You have to carry trays of food or drinks around, but you do get to move. I think the worst part of being a stylist is standing in one place for a long period of time. That gets surprisingly tiring, but the worst job I had was cleaning. It wasn't physically awful, but human beings are disgusting. I wore a mask and gloves, and I still felt unclean after every shift." She shudders at the memory. "What's the worst job you ever did?"
I don't even have to think about it. "Working in an office." It was hot and stifling. The constant ringing of phones drove me up the wall.
"Yeah. I can't see you at a desk. You're built for motion. When did you work in an office?"
"After I left the Army. I went to work...for someone I knew. It didn't last long." Six months. I was told I was a quitter as I walked away, but if I hadn't left, I'd probably have strangled my boss and then my whole family would've been pissed at me. I decide to change the subject. That six months was a bad time, and I don't want to get into it with Lauren. "What do you want for lunch?"
"How about a bagel sandwich? There's a café across the street that serves them along with some breakfast quiche. It's a little early for lunch food and I don't have time to sit down."
A bagel sandwich sounds as appealing as a bowl of dog food, but it's with Lauren, and I'd eat bugs if it meant spending a little more time with her.
"Sure. Bagel sandwiches it is."
We get to the first floor. The traffic's heavier on the sidewalk than when I first arrived. We pause to allow a couple people to pass.
"The sandwiches are good. You'll like them. They have a huge assortment of bagels and flavored cream cheese and sometimes I just go with that for lunch with a cup of coffee. It's like having a second breakfast."
"I like plain bagels."
"Of course you do."
"With plain cream cheese. Everything else is an abomination."
She laughs. "You haven't had Steve’s cream cheese. It's homemade. I think they use goat milk or something. It's so creamy. You're going to love it."
Her eyes are sparkling and cheeks are plumped up from her smile and slightly pink from the mid-morning air. I want to scoop her into my arms and kiss the breath out of her. Who the fuck cares we are standing on a busy intersection in the middle of Manhattan? I take a step toward her.
She stops breathing.
“Griffin?”
The interruption is jarring, but the voice is recognizable. I spin around and put Lauren behind my back. "Yeah?"
"I thought that was you. I'd know those broad shoulders anywhere. You must not be working today."
It's my ex. An uncomfortable sensation creeps up the middle of my back. I don't want Lauren to meet her. Since the breakup, my ex has turned out to be...difficult. She isn't one of the best decisions I've made in my life, and I don't like the idea of Lauren meeting such a big mistake so early on. Lauren's already wary of me. If she thinks I make shit decisions, it's only going to add mortar to her barricades.
"I'm on a break," I admit, wishing I didn't have to let her know even that much.
"That's good. You work so hard, and Weston never allows you a minute to breathe."
I don’t want a minute to breathe. I like work.
"I'll stop by later. I found your favorite shirt in my closet the other day. Our things must've gotten mixed up, and I took it to the cleaner with the rest of my stuff," my ex continues.
The tendons in my spine tighten even more. I don't need eyes in the back of my head to know that this isn't playing well to Lauren.
"You can toss it." I don't even remember what shirt she's talking about since I’ve never stayed at her place or vice versa. Hell, I’ve never even disrobed in front of her. The most skin she’s seen is that one time we played couples racquetball and I wore shorts.