Total pages in book: 90
Estimated words: 92070 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 460(@200wpm)___ 368(@250wpm)___ 307(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 92070 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 460(@200wpm)___ 368(@250wpm)___ 307(@300wpm)
"You're supposed to greet me with a hug." She brushes a wavy lock behind her ear. "At least say, 'I love your haircut.'"
"It looks great."
She takes a step toward me.
I try, hard, to keep my eyes on hers, but my eyes refuse. They trace another line down her body, studying every single curve.
'Cause I'm an artist. We study the human figure and turn it into a series of lines. That's why I'm fascinated by the shape of her hips. Not for any sort of untoward reason.
"Dare." She takes another step toward me. "You're making me self-conscious."
"You look great."
"Not too much?" she asks.
"Too what?"
"The swimsuit?" She snaps the halter strap.
My head immediately finishes the scenario—her, undoing the strap, tossing the bikini top on the floor, and climbing into my lap.
Not sure how she climbs into my lap when we're both standing. But I don't picture the, uh, more physically plausible scenario. I don't imagine her pretty lips around my—
'Cause that's just not—
Is she wearing lipstick?
I'm absolutely, positively not picturing it on my—
Get ahold of yourself, Dickson. (Yeah, my name is Darren Dickson. But at least it's honest. I'm the son of a massive prick).
"What about it?" I close my eyes, but that's too obvious. I don't want her to think I'm avoiding looking at her, so I stretch my arms over my head and let out a yawn.
"Were you sleeping?" she asks.
"Who can sleep when they're anticipating their best friend's return?"
She smiles, the Val I know, only with the poise and body of a confident knockout.
Don't get me wrong. Val has always been confident about her brains. But her body?
We were teenagers when we met. I'm oblivious, but I'm not that oblivious. Most teenage girls harbor a few insecurities. Val doesn't exactly fit into the Los Angeles ideal (a more subtle take on the Playboy playmate. "Natural" light hair, trim waist, large saline breasts but not so large they're obviously fake).
She's always been cute, but she's never been thin. She doesn't talk about it much now, but she went through phases where she was sure guys wouldn't like her because she's bigger. (Which is ridiculous. She's got fantastic tits. Not that I notice).
"You look sleepy," she says.
"It's five a.m."
"I gave you two extra hours."
"Get your sassy ass over here."
"I thought you'd never ask." She practically skips to me.
I catch her in an embrace. It's the same embrace I normally offer her. A tight hug. A hug I reserve solely for Val.
For a moment, it feels normal. My best friend, in my arms. The smell of her citrus shampoo in my nostrils. The familiar sound of her breath.
The softness of her chest against mine, her hips against mine, her lips inches from my neck.
Red alert. The flag is flying in 5, 4, 3, 2—
I release her, turn, force another yawn. "You want something to drink?"
"At five a.m.?"
"Isn't that time for after-dinner drinks in Spain?"
She lets out a low groan. "Not far from it."
"Poor, baby."
"I can't wait to eat dinner at six for once," she says. "Or maybe even five."
"Live a little, yeah."
She laughs as she flips me off.
I move toward the kitchen. Caffeine isn't a great idea—I'm wired already—but I need a distraction. "Coffee?"
"You're going to make coffee?"
"I was taught by the best."
"That is true." She lets out a low yawn. "Can I steal a sip?"
I shoot her an obviously look.
She smiles, comfortable, happy, content, and we settle into our usual routine, fixing coffee together.
We're home.
She's home.
After I fill the French press, she rests her head on my shoulder. "I might fall asleep here."
I motion to the coffee. I try to ignore how good she feels.
"Even so."
"Take the bed," I say.
"Not until I dip."
"How are you going to fall asleep after that wake-up call?"
"A nine-hour time difference."
I laugh.
"You'll be the one suffering next week."
"I know."
"You excited?" she asks.
"To drink gin and tonics in Barcelona?"
"They call them gin tonics there."
"I sound like a tourist?" I ask.
She nods. "I think your lack of Spanish will give that away."
I tried, really. It never took. "I can't wait to see your room." Say, the sheets on the bed, the underwear in her drawer. Ahem. "Do you have a One Direction poster there too?"
"Dare!"
"It hung for three months."
"You swore silence," she says.
"Who's here?"
"That's secrecy, not silence."
"Which of the guys is the hottest, you think?" I try to remember their names. One starts with a Z, and there's a guy with a pretty normal name too. Harry, maybe?
"Please. You listen to Michelle Branch more than I do."
"'Cause she's hot."
"Oh, yeah, I bet that really comes through."
"Hot voice."
"Uh-huh." She shakes her head with a smile. A Val kind of smile. An I love you as a friend, my ridiculous best friend smile.
Only there's something else in it, something I can't place.
The timer beeps. I pour the coffee into a thermos and offer my hand.