Total pages in book: 75
Estimated words: 71565 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 358(@200wpm)___ 286(@250wpm)___ 239(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 71565 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 358(@200wpm)___ 286(@250wpm)___ 239(@300wpm)
“Chloe, is it slutty that I kinda want to skip this date and go straight back to his place for sex?”
“Do you care if it’s slutty?”
“Just on principle.”
She pops another Nutella-covered Animal Cracker in her mouth while she thinks, holding up a finger to indicate she’s gonna give this some serious thought. I pull out my nail polish and survey my options. Aha! Perfect. It’s red and its name is Size Matters. How can I get a job naming nail polish colors? I’d be so good at it. I mean, I really understand the importance of the right polish name. It absolutely sets the mood of an entire outfit.
“It’s a little bit slutty.” Chloe’s finished chewing and has given me her verdict. “You really should buy him dinner first.”
I nod. “That’s fair.” I pull on my favorite jeans and then survey my choices before pulling on a sweater over a lacy camisole. He said casual. This one is the perfect chocolate brown and makes my eyes pop, and the lace camisole peeps out of the bottom. Perfect. The weather is nice for early December and the snow that was threatening earlier today never materialized. I’ve got a cute camel-colored pea coat that will complement the sweater, in case I want to leave it unbuttoned. Finally, I pull out the Louboutin box from under the bed. He did specify that I should wear them after all, and I’m a very accommodating girl. Most of the time. Hardly ever.
I use a fat curling iron to add a few big waves to my hair and then complete my makeup with smoky eyes and dark, chocolatey-red lipstick. He’s definitely going to want to skip dinner when he sees me, I decide, looking myself over before I head out.
At five to seven I tell Chloe I’m going down to the lobby to wait for him and she groans.
“He’s not coming upstairs? I was gonna take pictures,” she jokes, holding up her phone. “Maybe I’ll just come down with you and grab a few before you go.” She pretends like she’s getting off the bed, making a big production out of it.
“Zip it, roomie. I’ll see you later.”
“By later, you mean tomorrow?”
“I sure as hell hope so.”
Twenty-Six
Sawyer is waiting for me when I get downstairs. He’s leaning against the wall with the mailboxes, hands in his pockets, posture relaxed while he surveys the hustle and bustle in the lobby. Based on his expression I’d say he’s amused. There are a couple of guys lounging on the sofas, tossing a basketball between them. Two different pizza delivery drivers waiting for students to meet them in the lobby to collect their orders. A couple having an argument near the elevators. And at least four girls who are eyeing the fuck out of him.
I see him before he sees me. I use the time to take him in. He’s painfully good-looking. He’s changed since I saw him this afternoon. The suit is gone, replaced with faded denim jeans and a grey v-neck sweater, the collar of a white button-down shirt appearing underneath. His dark hair is tousled, as if he showered after work and just ran his hands through it while it dried. I cannot wait to get my hands on that hair. I know it must be as thick as it looks, and I’m a bit fascinated with the barely-there wave. It’ll definitely be something to hold on to later.
He sees me coming and his eyes do a slow trail down my frame and then back again. “You pick up all your dates here?” I quip.
He exhales slowly and shakes his head. “I didn’t think there was a woman alive who could have me waiting on her in a college dorm,” he replies. “But then again, I wasn’t expecting you, Boots.”
Well, hell, I don’t have a reply for that. I stare in his eyes for a moment and nod, the moment strangely intimate. He has the most devastating blue eyes, and I’m finding I really like having their attention on me.
He helps me into my coat and we head out. As he holds the car door for me I realize I still don’t know where we’re going, and it’s nice. Not planning the date is fan-freaking-tastic. I don’t have to think about it. I don’t have to ask him what he wants to do and worry about him having a good time. I just get to have fun. Sawyer might be right about being pursued versus doing the pursuing. Unless he’s about to take me to a strip club.
We make it as far as 5th Street, which isn’t far at all, when I remember that I Googled him today. And that I know too much. Like his middle name (Thomas) and his birthday (January twenty-seventh) and his net worth (a lot). All stuff I should not yet know. It’s probably no more information than he’s dug up on me, but still, it feels weird. It might be the billions part that makes it weird. It’s definitely the billions part.