Total pages in book: 70
Estimated words: 68859 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 344(@200wpm)___ 275(@250wpm)___ 230(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 68859 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 344(@200wpm)___ 275(@250wpm)___ 230(@300wpm)
We all laughed.
Kobe watched her, though, even though a small laugh had escaped him.
Wow, there was definitely something going on there. Whether the two of them wanted to admit it or not.
“I read today that a random bolt of lightning has enough energy in it to toast one hundred thousand slices of bread,” I said to no one in particular.
The man in front of me snorted, making me want to hit him upside the head with my beer bottle. Sadly, I wouldn’t be doing that because I’d already opened it—and drank half of it—and I wasn’t one to waste alcohol.
“What?” I asked him fiercely.
“Who are you?” he asked as I took another sip of beer.
“I’m just a normal person, Kyle,” I sneered.
He hated being called Kyle.
But every once in a while, when I knew it would annoy him the most, I called him by it just because I liked to see his eye twitch.
And the eye twitching didn’t disappoint.
In fact, it showed, loud and clear, for me to see.
“Don’t call me Kyle,” he grumbled. “And there’s no need to be rude.”
I didn’t reply.
Instead, I drank my beer and thought about how many I’d have to consume before being around the man was tolerable.
My guess? Five.
That was my drunk number, too, though.
Five beers, and I’d be done in.
Greer Ortiz would be off her rocker drunk, and there’d be no way to control the things that came out of my mouth then.
Ever since I’d been drinking with Davis around, I’d been very careful never to go all the way. Mostly because there was a fine line that I refused to cross when it came to Davis. One, I would not get drunk because when I get drunk, my mouth tends to run away from me. Two, I’d promised to always keep the peace when it came to Davis and me, for Sara’s sake.
“I wasn’t being rude,” I finally muttered before taking a sip of my beer.
“You always act rude,” he countered. “And you look unapproachable.”
My brows rose.
Being shy and having a resting bitch face are the worst combinations because I look like a disinterested bitch when in reality, I really want to socialize. But I just don’t know how to initiate a conversation with strangers, and this was just my face.
“Maybe the only reason I appear unapproachable is because I’m shy,” I said. “And I don’t know how to appear anything but unapproachable.”
Davis rolled his eyes. “That’s a myth.”
“What’s a myth?” I asked in confusion.
“Shyness. It’s just a lack of desire,” he countered.
Anger started to rise. My shyness was not from a lack of desire.
“That’s not really a myth, it’s partially a personality trait that stems off of how one is treated as a young child. If they’re validated, and treated correctly, then their shyness tends not to be so severe. It also stems off of self-consciousness and fear of being judged. But also, it’s straight up something that you inherit from both parents. It’s kind of like being introverted and extroverted. It’s not as if something happened to make you that way. You either are or you aren’t,” Folsom countered, coming to my defense. “Did you know that, for an extrovert, they get their proverbial cups refilled by being out and about, socializing and living their life around people? Meanwhile, an introvert’s cup becomes full while they are alone and able to recharge. When they’re at a party, or being social in some way, their cup starts to run out. And eventually, we hit a point where we no longer have the energy to be in that situation anymore. We need to be alone to recharge.” She looked at me. “Are you extroverted?”
“I’m an introverted extrovert.” I grinned. “I only come out of my shell once I know them well.”
“That’s understandable.” She paused. “And recommended.”
Kobe snorted.
“This conversation went really deep, really fast.” Sara pulled out six shot glasses, then paused, looking at Finn. “Are you drinking tonight?”
He held up his beer.
That’s when I noticed he was no longer in uniform.
He was wearing his khaki, long-sleeved shirt. But he no longer had his badge or gun on him.
Gee whiz, he was a cute kid.
Or man.
He’d grown into someone that was adorable.
“I’m drinking,” he confirmed. “They wanted ten people. With y’all only able to get five on such short notice, I’m getting paid to be here.”
He grinned wickedly and took a swig of his beer.
I snorted and took a chug of my beer.
Out of everything I’d had when I was growing up, beer seemed to be my favorite. It was the easiest one to procure, and it was the one that tasted the least icky.
Though, that likely had a lot to do with my dad allowing me to have sips of his beer when we were growing up.
I still remember when my sister had come home from college and saw me out in the garage with my dad with a beer in my hand. She’d about flipped her lid, accusing my dad of having favorites because he wouldn’t ever let her do that.