Total pages in book: 199
Estimated words: 192134 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 961(@200wpm)___ 769(@250wpm)___ 640(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 192134 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 961(@200wpm)___ 769(@250wpm)___ 640(@300wpm)
And I don’t want to hurt Ruby.
I meet Max’s gaze as we head into the café. “Something might be going on with Ruby. But distance would be a problem. What do you think? Would that be the worst idea ever?”
He gives a thoughtful sigh. “Guess it depends on how it all plays out. And you won’t know that until it’s over.”
“Truer words . . .” You can make all the plans you like; you never know how life’s going to play out until you’re looking in your rearview mirror.
We grab coffees, help Penny color in one of the pages Perk Up offers for the kids on Sundays—today, it’s a New England pastoral scene that reminds me of trips upstate, making me wonder if there will be quaint little towns like that on the West Coast—and then say goodbye.
On the way to my apartment, I call my mom, checking in to see if her Sunday yoga class killed her this week. My mom’s in great shape for her age, but I’m not sure anyone should be doing yoga in 102-degree heat.
“Hey, lady, you dead yet?” I ask when she answers.
She laughs. “No! I feel amazing. I’m telling, you, Jess, hot yoga is changing my life. It’s like I’m thirty again. You have to come with me next week, before you leave. Oh! Or better yet, let me hook you up with my teacher’s best friend in L.A. He runs a studio where the Hollywood people go. You could sign up for a month of classes, meet a sweet, beautiful, yoga-loving movie star, and give me grandbabies while I’m still young enough that people will be shocked when I say they’re my grandbabies, not my children.”
I grin. “Sounds like you’ve got it all planned out.”
“Perfect. I’ll get you his number.” She chuckles knowingly. “Even if you’re too stubborn to go to yoga, he sounds like a great guy, and you’ll need new friends.”
“Thanks for looking out for me, Mom,” I say, my chest tighter than it was a moment before. New friends are good. I like new friends.
But right now, I’m more focused on old friends . . .
And maybe becoming more than just friends.
I catch up with Mom, promise to grab lunch or dinner with her and Dad sometime next week, and then pound up the stairs to my third-floor apartment where I take a shower and get dressed to make art with Ruby in SoHo.
All the way into the city, the subway rumbles loud enough to wake the dead. But I barely notice, my mind on one thing—how is this going to play out?
To bang or not to bang? That is still the question, the one I still have no idea how to answer.
Until I see her outside Street Feet Art Supply with Corey Braxton. And then the answer becomes crystal fucking clear.
12
RUBY
Claire’s list continues to work its magic on my mood.
While I’m not at all interested in flirting with Corey Braxton, one of New York’s famously talented—and notoriously womanizing—graffiti artists, I do feel lighter today. So when he sidles up to me outside Street Feet while I’m waiting for Jesse, I smile.
A friendly smile.
Unsurprisingly, however, Corey shoots me his any chance I’m getting in your pants grin. “Hey, you. Where have you been hiding?”
My gut says give him a straight-faced answer, like, In physical therapy after a life-altering accident.
But last night has me feeling generous and at one with the world, so I choose kindness and honesty. “Just designing greeting cards. Planning my first big spray-paint piece. Thinking about life. You know how it goes,” I say, chatting amiably with Mr. Wham, Bam, Thank You Ma’am.
Chatting. Just chatting. I would never date Corey.
Please.
He’s slept with waaaaay too many women in my greater social circle for me to even consider the idea—some things you just don’t want to share with your girlfriends, and peen is one of them.
Besides, no matter how warm Corey’s big brown eyes are or how broad the span of his shoulders . . . he’s no Jesse.
A fact he proves when he hits me with his next question: “You want to come back to my place? Have a coffee or something?” He winks as he jabs a thumb over his shoulder, making it clear what kind of “something” he has in mind. “I’m right around the corner and I’ve got some half-empty paint cans you can use for your piece.”
Maybe I am giving off some get it, girl vibes thanks to last night and the list.
But no.
Just no.
If it was Jesse, on the other hand, I’d be all in—but now I kind of appreciate him drawing out this courtship, prolonging the anticipation.
Relishing the flirting and the kissing and all the delicious steps along the way.
I like all the curves and bends with Jesse, even if I don’t know where the road is taking us.