Total pages in book: 70
Estimated words: 65192 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 326(@200wpm)___ 261(@250wpm)___ 217(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 65192 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 326(@200wpm)___ 261(@250wpm)___ 217(@300wpm)
“Again, I ‘ew’ in your general direction,” Evie says, grabbing her big linen scarf from the coat tree. “Maybe you don’t like my cooking because you’re a weirdo who likes chunks of fart cheese floating in your vodka.”
“Blue cheese smells nothing like a fart,” Harlow tosses over her shoulder as she opens the door. “It smells like a fragrant summer barnyard in some charming New England-ish place. Like Vermont. Or Maine.”
“So, animal farts instead of human ones?” Evie says. “Glad you pointed out the difference. My opinion on gross fart cheese has been completely transformed.”
They close the door behind them, their voices echoing as they banter their way down the stairs, making me smile.
When I turn back to Sam, he’s smiling, too.
“They’re even cooler than I remember,” he says.
“Yeah, they are,” I agree, settling into the chair Harlow just vacated at the table. “I’m going to miss them if I end up moving to London.”
He nods, his expression sobering. “Well, you can always stay here and work remotely. Like I said, the team is willing—”
“No, it’s fine,” I say, cutting him off with a wave of my hand. “They’re moving on anyway. They’re engaged, Evie’s already planning her wedding, and they’re both going to be relocating to different cities before too long. Pretty soon, I’d be the only member of the original crew in the apartment anyway.”
“But Cam is still in the city, right? He doesn’t have any plans to move anytime soon?”
I shake my head. “No, but he’s a dad now. And a partner and working his butt off at the restaurant. I’m sure we’d still hook up now and then, but…it wouldn’t be the same.” I shrug uncomfortably. “Sometimes it kind of sucks being the late bloomer. But I guess you know something about that,” I say with a tight laugh.
“Yeah, about that…” Sam glances down at his hands with a sigh that makes the moment even more awkward.
We haven’t discussed the whole “V-Card” thing since last night, but it’s been lingering in my thoughts all day. How on earth did a man as gorgeous as Sam, a man who turns heads walking through the park or out of the emergency room, a man who is clearly very successful and fun and interesting, to boot, make it to twenty-four and still be a virgin?
But then again, Cam was a virgin until recently, too, and he’s one of the best-looking guys I’ve ever met. And sweet and talented and fun and great with kids.
Relationships are just…hard, I guess.
Even short-term, getting-your-fuck-on relationships.
“I’m not sure how to—” Sam starts, only to be interrupted by a buzz from the intercom by the door.
I bounce off my chair. “Hold that thought,” I say, rushing over to punch the button and ask, “Hello, who is this?”
“Delivery from Chez Pierre,” a French-accented voice replies. “For Samuel.”
“Yes, that’s us, come on up,” I say, hitting the buzzer to unlock the front door. Digging in my purse, I ask Sam, “How much should I give him for tip?”
“Nothing,” Sam says, rising from the chair without a wince, making me hope his pain is really much better. “I already added it to the total on my card, and I’ll sign for the delivery. All I need from you is some plates and a couple of candles if you’ve got them.”
“I have something even better than candles,” I say, dumping my purse back onto the floor beside the shoe pile and starting for my room. “Just wait, I think you’re going to love this. Harlow says it’s tacky, but I think it’s awesome.”
Sam laughs. “I love tacky. You’re talking to a guy who has a tiki bar in his backyard at home.”
I pause in my doorway, turning back to him with wide eyes and a dropped jaw. “I love tiki bars. Tell me you have cheesy glasses shaped like tiki gods and pineapples.”
“A dozen of them. All vintage from the 1950s,” he says.
I slap a hand to my chest. “Be still my heart.”
Sam arches a teasing brow. “If I’d known all it took to make you melt was a tiki bar, I would have taken you on a New York City tiki bar tour instead of a jazz concert.”
“That can still happen,” I hear myself say, even as the voice in my head warns that flirting isn’t supposed to be a part of this experience.
I’m supposed to be getting to know Sam again as a friend—and then considering introducing his penis to my vagina in a casual way—not batting my eyelashes and letting him woo me, or whatever is happening here.
But before I can think of a way to bring us back to Just-Friends-Ville, the food arrives. I fetch my star globe from my room and position it in the center of the table, ensuring the room is swirling with blue and white constellations as we devour caviar, two orders of escargot with crusty bread, steak frites, and a chocolate mousse that makes my taste buds do the happy dance.