Total pages in book: 93
Estimated words: 91058 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 455(@200wpm)___ 364(@250wpm)___ 304(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 91058 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 455(@200wpm)___ 364(@250wpm)___ 304(@300wpm)
His scent lingers between us. I hate that I know it’s his scent. Subtle, citrusy, it binds me like an ever-tightening rope.
I could talk first, but this feels like a challenge. He came to me, but he didn’t strike up a conversation. It’s confusing. He’s close enough that it doesn’t feel totally accidental, but at the same time…I’m not absolutely certain he realizes I’m standing here.
We’ve been circling each other all night. At certain moments I’ve felt his gaze on me, though every time I turn to find him, he’s focused on his own conversation, circulating through guests, surprisingly social for a man who seems to want nothing to do with people most of the time.
I take on his same posture, leaning on the railing. I get the impression he could hold out all night, could stand here for hours without saying a single word. The thought alone drives me insane.
I break first.
“You dressed up.”
That’s when I realize something. My head whips around quickly, finding Lucy talking to my mom. I didn’t realize it before, but they’re matching! Lucy’s also in a Top Gun flight suit.
“Was it Lucy’s idea?”
His gaze cuts to me, almost regretfully, as he nods. “She ordered them.”
I smile. “Cute. I love it.”
He shrugs, indifferent. “I swear I catch her watching that beach scene from Top Gun: Maverick at least once a week on YouTube.”
Can’t say I blame her…though why she’s bothering with Miles Teller when Hudson is right there, flesh and blood is beyond me. He’s much sexier.
I flush like my thoughts were just shouted out loud, and then I busy myself looking for another waiter. I was planning to cut myself off, but…
“Dorothy, huh?” Hudson asks.
I tap my heels together in reply, eliciting a dimpled smile from him.
He takes in my legs, and I feel compelled to explain, “The dress was longer when I tried it on in the shop.”
“Hmm.” He doesn’t sound bothered. “People are wearing less.”
His gaze rises to the circus performers behind me, the ones who are all but naked in their cages.
“That’s not comforting.”
He looks back at me, and a sort of relief settles over his expression. I get the sense that he’s been dying to do this all night—just stand here with me, having a simple conversation. “You have long legs. That’s the problem.”
I look down at my legs. They’re covered in white stockings up to my knees. He’s assessing those too.
“Should we be talking about my legs?” I ask, working up the courage to peer up at him.
He looks away and narrows his eyes out on the river. “Probably not.” Then he takes another sip of his beer.
“Maybe we shouldn’t be talking at all.”
“Okay.” The suggestion doesn’t bother him in the least.
He really is the worst opponent to go up against because he isn’t bluffing; he truly doesn’t care about any of this. I wonder what makes him tick, if there’s anything for him outside of work.
This isn’t the first time I’ve wondered these same things. I’m inexhaustibly curious about this man, and the more silent he is, the more indifferent he acts—the more I want to peel him apart layer by layer. Where does he live? What does he do when he gets home from work? Does he watch TV? Does he even own a TV?
Am I as mysterious as he is?
The thought makes me choke back a laugh.
Dorothy, you already know the answer to that.
“Looks like you’re missing your lion… You’ve only managed to wrangle the scarecrow and the tin man.”
Ha. If only he knew the full story.
“The lion canceled last minute.”
He shakes his head sympathetically. “How very cowardly.”
I try to hide my smile by looking down. He turns his body so his hip leans against the rail, and his full attention rests on me in an unnerving way. Everything about him is so intense, from the sharp angles of his jaw to the smolder in his gaze.
I’m left trying to keep things light between us, bringing up subjects that feel safe—though I’m not sure why. We’re not alone; we’re at a party surrounded by hundreds of people.
“It’s sweet that you dressed up with Lucy.”
He balks. “I didn’t really have a choice.”
“So she wears the pants in your relationship?” I tease.
“One hundred percent.”
He watches the smile spread across my lips, staring a beat too long.
“Where’s Jasper?”
I rear back at his question. “Jasper?”
“Your boyfriend,” he says with a pointed flare of annoyance.
I’m sorry, but I find it hard to believe he a) knows I have a boyfriend and b) happens to know his name. I suppose he gleaned all of this a few weeks back when Jasper came to collect me from his office, but I didn’t think it’d stick with him or anything.
Also, on top of all of that, why does he care?
“He went to dinner with his parents.” My brows furrow disapprovingly. “But you…you shouldn’t even be asking about him.”