Total pages in book: 69
Estimated words: 64966 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 325(@200wpm)___ 260(@250wpm)___ 217(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 64966 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 325(@200wpm)___ 260(@250wpm)___ 217(@300wpm)
It turned out he was on the boxy, black leather couch, wearing the exact same thing I was. His damp hair was forming loose curls, and he gathered it into a messy bun and fastened it with an elastic band as I crossed the room and sat beside him.
He handed me a bottle of water and asked, “Are you hungry?”
“Very.”
“Me, too.”
I started to leaf through the thick room service menu on the coffee table while I sipped the water. But after a minute, I said, “You probably know what’s good here, so maybe you should order for both of us.”
“What are you in the mood for? The overnight kitchen staff knows me well, and they can make almost anything, even if it’s not on the menu.”
“I could go for a huge mountain of carbs. I have zero fucks to give about the calories, since we just burned about a million of them.”
“They make a great pasta primavera. Would you like to try it?”
“Sure.”
He picked up the phone on the end table and pushed the button for room service. Then he greeted the person who answered with, “Hey, Javier, how are you this evening?” Javier gave a long reply, and Malcolm smiled. “I’m so happy to hear you got your acceptance letter to culinary school! You’re going to do great.”
They chatted like old friends for another minute. Then he said, “Yes, please. Could I get the pasta primavera for two, along with a basket of garlic bread? Let’s add coffee and a dessert to share, as long as I’m indulging. You decide, whatever looks best.” He listened again before saying, “No, Ginny’s not spending the night tonight, but I’ll tell her you said hello.”
Wait a minute—who the hell was Ginny? He’d said he was single, but had I just caught him in a lie?
As a picture began to form in my mind, I got up from the couch and took a step back. Meanwhile, Malcolm ended the call and turned to look at me. When he saw my expression, he asked, “Is something wrong?”
There was no chance of staying calm, not when this was such a touchy subject for me. As some very recent, terrible memories came flooding back, I snapped, “Damn it, Malcolm, you really better fucking not be using me to cheat on your girlfriend!”
“What?” He looked thoroughly confused.
“Ginny! The woman who usually spends the night here, with you.” I took another step back. “You just said that to the person on the phone, right in front of me, like I was too dumb to figure it out.”
Malcolm held up his hands, like he was trying to keep a wild animal from charging. “Ginny and I aren’t dating. We’ve been best friends since the eighth grade, and she’s also a lesbian. She’s been staying in the suite’s second bedroom occasionally, because her kitchen is being remodeled and the whole house is a huge mess.”
I repeated the key part of that. “She’s a lesbian?” He nodded, and I murmured, “Oh.”
“To be clear, I would never cheat on anyone. I think that’s a truly shitty thing to do to someone.”
I looked away and muttered, “It really is.”
“Judging by your reaction, I take it someone cheated on you.”
“My last boyfriend. It was horrible.”
“Was this recent?”
“I caught him in the act and broke up with him less than a month ago.”
“I’m really sorry that happened to you.”
“Yeah. Me, too.”
After a pause, he ventured, “So, I guess I’m the rebound guy.”
“Something like that.” Revenge, rebound, whatever. “I’m sorry I jumped to conclusions. I just never, ever want to be the other man.”
“I can see why that would set you off, given what you went through.”
I fidgeted and glanced at him. “I feel ridiculous for…well, all of that.”
“No need to apologize. I know how it must have sounded.” When I sat down beside him, he grinned and said, “You have a temper, don’t you?”
“For sure, but you didn’t even see it right then. When I get mad for real, you’ll know.” He seemed to find that amusing. I was like a chihuahua in that respect. Since I was on the small side and looked sweet, no one ever expected me to have any bite, so to speak.
Malcolm shifted around and leaned against the arm of the couch, so he was facing me. Then he changed the subject by saying, “You mentioned college earlier. What was your major?”
“Tell me about you first. Where did you go to school?”
“I studied at Berklee College of Music.”
“That’s different than the Berkeley that’s here in the Bay Area, isn’t it?”
“Right. It’s in Boston.”
I threw out several more rapid-fire questions, and after a minute or two, he asked, “Are you intentionally avoiding telling me what you studied in school?”
“Yes.”
“Why is that?”
“Because as soon as I tell people I majored in creative writing, they always say, ‘oh, have you published anything?’ And the answer is no, I haven’t. I tried, but a person can only take so much rejection.”