Total pages in book: 147
Estimated words: 140523 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 703(@200wpm)___ 562(@250wpm)___ 468(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 140523 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 703(@200wpm)___ 562(@250wpm)___ 468(@300wpm)
“I wasn’t exactly trying to hide them, but I can’t even see them if I’m not standing on my toes—it’s not my fault you’re freakishly tall.”
“I’m not freakishly tall, Flash,” I mumbled and looked down at her then back at the countless reddish-orange bags of candy on the shelf. “Is there something you want to tell me?”
“Surprise?” she blurted out like it was a question, drawing my gaze back to her. “I got them for you…as a present…a few presents.”
I raised an eyebrow. “Zoe, give it up. There have to be at least twenty-five, thirty bags of peanut butter M&Ms here.”
She groaned. “Fine, I lied. I bought them all for me, and if you want to be exact, there are only twenty-three, but I can’t eat them.”
“Right, twenty-three. And why exactly can you not eat them?”
“I told you: I can’t stop.”
“Then why the hell did you buy them?”
She sighed again and closed the cupboard as if she couldn’t bear to look at them any longer. “Because I can’t stop myself from buying them either. I just like to have them around, you know. If I know they’re there, it makes it easier to stay away, like if I had a craving I could reach up and get one and everything would be okay, but if I don’t have them in the house and it’s too late to go out and buy some, then what am I supposed to do? Or what if they’re out of peanut butter M&Ms, then what? Does that make sense?”
I just shook my head. “Not really.”
“It’s like this: it’s better to know I have them than not have them, and if I have them, I won’t eat them because then they’ll all be gone. I like that they’re there. Oh, let’s look at it like this.”
“Let’s.”
“I bet you eat your favorite food on the plate last, right? Let’s say you have meatballs, broccoli, and…rosemary and garlic roasted potatoes. Which one would you leave for last?”
I just blankly stared at her.
“I would leave the roasted potatoes. I’d want to savor them, so I’d leave them to eat last. Get it now?”
“Please tell me you don’t have a bag of roasted potatoes tucked away somewhere—and also, for the love of God, don’t tell me you occasionally like to take these M&Ms down, line them up on the counter, and just stare at them.”
“Of course not! I’m not a weirdo, I just have…some quirks. It’s cute to have quirks.”
“Well, excuse me for asking. If you did that, I was gonna start worrying about you.”
“Don’t you have that one—or, okay, a few food items you’re afraid to eat too quickly because then that will be the end of it and you won’t have more? I like fries, too. I can never share fries, and I always get extra even if I don’t eat all of them. I just want the option of eating more. Do you get it? If you still don’t get it, I’m pretty sure you’re the problem here, buddy, not me.”
As she looked up at me with hope-filled eyes, I could do nothing but just stare at her.
She bit her lip then started laughing, and two seconds in, a small snort escaped her. She slapped her hand over her face, but it was too late.
The grin I gave her was a little filthy, a little lazy. “You’re so fucking fascinating, Zoe Clarke.”
What did I get for my compliment? A smack on the arm and an impressive growl.
* * *
It was around ten when I heard a key turn in the lock and the apartment door slammed open, hitting the column right behind it.
I leaned back in my seat and watched Zoe struggle with taking her bag off her shoulder.
“I’ve gotta pee! I’ve gotta pee! I’ve gotta pee!”
Each time she repeated it, her voice rose higher.
My eyes dropped to the dress she was wearing: black and tight on her upper body, leaving nothing to the imagination as far as the size of her boobs, and looser on her hips—not by much, but still. It ended a few inches above her knees. Date, right—she was coming back from her date.
“Miss Clarke!” another voice chimed in. “Miss Clarke, I need you to—”
Holding on to the door and squirming in place, Zoe replied, “I’m sorry, Ms. Hilda, I’ve gotta pee. I can’t. I really really can’t. I have to pee.”
With that she slammed the door, finally managed to untangle the strap of her bag from her hair, threw it right over her head, and ran straight to the bathroom.
Like I said, I found her fascinating.
A few minutes later she came out of the bathroom, and just when I thought she was heading to her room, she stopped in her tracks. I could’ve sworn I saw her tilt her chin up and smell the air.