Total pages in book: 83
Estimated words: 78152 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 391(@200wpm)___ 313(@250wpm)___ 261(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 78152 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 391(@200wpm)___ 313(@250wpm)___ 261(@300wpm)
“Hi!” he said brightly when he saw me leaning on his doorframe. “Come on in.”
He stepped aside and let me walk into his apartment before closing and locking the door.
“Nice pla—” I stopped the automatic comment as soon as I actually looked at his place. It was maybe four hundred square feet with a tiny efficiency kitchen in one corner, a bed in another, and a couch and table occupying the rest of the space. There was a door on one wall, and I hoped it led to a bathroom. Other than that, the walls were covered in pictures.
“Oh, come on, it’s not that bad,” Chase said, apparently noticing my somewhat horrified expression.
“No, it’s not bad,” I said, trying to find a remnant of the manners my parents had tried to instill in me before they’d decided I was beyond redemption. “It’s just small.” Which was true. His place was clean, with shining wood floors, colorful tile counters, and striking photos on every wall.
“Five hundred square feet is plenty when you’re living alone, and I’m a stone’s throw from the F Line.”
“You’re right. Sorry.” I shrugged. “I’m still not used New York. In Reno, we have lots of land, so the houses are much bigger.”
Something passed over his face and the light in his eyes dimmed. “You’re from Reno?” he asked.
“Uh-huh.” I took a step toward him, wanting to smooth my hand over his face and bring back that smile.
“That’s in Nevada, right?”
“Yeah. You been there?”
He shook his head. “No, but I…. No.” He gestured toward my hand. “Here, let me get your bag.”
I handed over my bag and tried to figure out what had gone wrong. Failing that, I held up the six-pack and said, “I brought beer.”
He set my bag down next to the couch, not exactly what I had hoped for, and then flicked his gaze to my raised hand.
“Oh, uh, thanks.” He walked into the kitchen. “Do you want a glass?”
“Nah.” I set the beer on the counter and pulled one out. “Bottle’s fine.” I held it out to him. “Want one?”
“No, thanks. I’m not much on beer.” He came over, picked up the rest of the bottles, and opened the door to a small refrigerator. “I’ll put these in here so they stay cold.” He pulled a bowl out of the fridge and then went over to a glass pan he had sitting on the counter.
“What’s that?” I asked, nudging my chin toward the pan before twisting the cap off my bottle and tossing it into the trash can.
“It’s going to be baked eggplant,” he said as he reached for the bowl and scattered what looked to be shredded white cheese into the pan.
“Eggplant?” I furrowed my brow as I tilted the bottle against my lips and took a drink. “What do you mean? Eggs come from chickens.”
He jerked his head up and stared at me. “You’re not… are you serious?” he asked. When I didn’t answer, he laughed so hard his face turned red. “It’s a vegetable. It has nothing to do with eggs,” he eventually said, sounding short of breath. “You’ve never heard of eggplant?”
Nothing pissed me off more than being laughed at, so I glared at him and probably spoke louder than I should have when I said, “Not everybody is a hippy foodie who eats all that organic shit!”
“It’s not organic,” he responded, still looking amused at my expense.
“You know what I mean,” I barked as I waved at the food, sloshing a little beer over the lip of the bottle. “We don’t all eat… lettuce and carrots and shit.”
At that point, he bent over and held his stomach as he cackled. “Lettuce”—he gasped—“and carrots”—he gasped again—“and shit.” When he finally managed to compose himself, he crossed the small space and threw his arms around me. My anger was immediately drowned out by the warmth that flooded me. “You’re so funny,” he said, blinking up at me, his smile back in full force and his eyes bright once again. “Thank you.” He kissed the base of my neck, and I decided he could laugh at me whenever he wanted if it kept that expression on his face. “I needed that.”
“Did you have a rough day, baby?” I asked him, wrapping an arm around his waist and combing my fingers through his hair.
He went rigid and I froze. Baby? Where that had come from, I couldn’t say. It was out of character for me and out of line to say to a guy I barely knew, and who I planned to stop knowing after that night, or that weekend at the longest.
After a silence that was stretching into awkward, he extricated himself from my arms and walked back to the counter as he said, “Just the usual day. Gym. Work. Gym. But then I came home to the couch surprise.” He opened the oven door and slid the pan inside. “Which, if I’m being honest, wasn’t all that unusual either.” He winked and grinned.