Total pages in book: 112
Estimated words: 108049 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 540(@200wpm)___ 432(@250wpm)___ 360(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 108049 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 540(@200wpm)___ 432(@250wpm)___ 360(@300wpm)
“Yo, visitor?” A fourth face appears in the doorway that separates the living room from the kitchen. “What do you want from Freshy Bowl?” he demands, a cell phone pressed to his ear.
“Grilled chicken salad, please,” I call back without delay. I’m very familiar with the menu of one of Hastings’ only healthy eating choices.
“On me,” Conor murmurs when I reach for my purse so I can chip in.
I glance over. “Thanks. I’ll get the next one.”
The next one? As if this rare occurrence of me having dinner at Conor Edwards’ house will ever fucking repeat itself? There’s a better chance of Halley’s comet showing up a few decades ahead of schedule.
And I’m not the only one marveling over this unforeseen turn of events. When Sasha texts a few minutes later and I inform her where I am, she accuses me of pranking her.
While Conor and his roommates debate over which movie to stream, I surreptitiously text my best friend back.
ME: Not a prank, I swear.
HER: You’re actually at his HOUSE????
ME: Swear on my signed poster of Ariana Grande.
That’s the only pop star Sasha allows me to fangirl over. Usually it’s “if they can’t sing live without lip-syncing or using their auto tuner, then they’re not a real musician, blah blah blah.”
HER: 50% of me still thinks you’re lying to me. Is it just the two of you?
ME: Six of us. Me + Con + 4 roommates.
HER: Con???? WE’RE ON NICKNAME BASIS NOW?
ME: No, we’re on shortening his name for texting convenience basis.
I’m about to punctuate that with an eyeroll emoji when the phone is unceremoniously snatched from my hand.
“Hey, give it back,” I protest, but Conor just flashes an evil grin and proceeds to read my entire text convo with Sasha out loud to his roommates.
“You have a signed poster of Ariana Grande?” Alec demands. At least I think it’s Alec. I’m still trying to learn all their names.
“Do you kiss it good night before bedtime?” inquires Matt, which evokes a howl of laughter from the others.
I glare at Conor. “Traitor.”
He winks. “Hey, like my junior high teacher Ms. Dillard always warned, if she catches you writing notes in Geography, she’ll read ’em out loud to the whole class.”
“Ms. Dillard sounds like a sadist. And so are you.” I roll my eyes dramatically. “What if I’d been texting about my horrible period cramps?”
Next to Alec, Gavin blanches. “Give ’er the phone back, Con. Nothing good could come of this.”
Conor’s gray eyes dip back to the screen. “But T’s friend doesn’t believe we’re all hanging out. Hold on, let’s show receipts. Smile, boys.”
Then he has the gall to snap a picture. My jaw drops when all four roommates flex their biceps for the camera.
“There,” Conor says with a satisfied nod. “Sent.”
I forcibly wrest the phone from his stupid hand. Sure enough, he’d sent Sasha that pic. And her response is immediate.
HER: OMFG. I want to lick Matt Anderson’s dimples.
HER: And then suck his dick.
I burst out laughing, which prompts Conor to try to steal my phone again. This time I win the battle, and firmly shove the iPhone into my purse before anyone can get their grubby hands on it.
“See this?” I tell the room, holding up the leather purse. “This is a sacred place. Any man who dares snoop through a woman’s purse will be murdered in his sleep by the Bag Butcher.”
Conor snickers. “Damn, babe. Your serial killer is showing.”
I just shoot him a saccharine smile. Then I finally shrug out of my cardigan, because all these big male bodies are generating a crazy amount of heat.
The moment the material slides off my shoulders, I feel more than one set of eyes travel to my chest. A flush rises in my cheeks, but I ignore it and purse my lips.
“Everything okay there?” I ask Gavin, whose brown eyes are completely glazed over.
“Um, yeah, all good. I’m…you’re…ah…I like your dress.”
Matt snickers from his new perch on one of the recliners. “Pick your tongue off the floor, loverboy.”
That snaps Gavin out of his stupor. And despite their initial ogling, the rest of the guys go back to acting normally, which I appreciate. I wouldn’t quite call them perfect gentlemen, but they’re not sleazebags, either.
Once the food arrives, the guys stream DeepStar Six. I eat my grilled chicken salad and watch as the underwater naval station is under attack by a giant crab monster, all the while wondering how I’ve been hypnotized into hanging out with Conor Edwards.
Not that I mind, exactly. He’s fun. Sweet, even. But I still haven’t figured out his angle. When it comes to men and unprovoked friendship, I tend to lean toward skeptical. In the car I’d quizzed him about why he’d made that big show in front of Abigail and her cronies, and he’d merely shrugged and said, “Because it’s fun to mess with the Greeks.”