Total pages in book: 83
Estimated words: 87856 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 439(@200wpm)___ 351(@250wpm)___ 293(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 87856 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 439(@200wpm)___ 351(@250wpm)___ 293(@300wpm)
"Are you sure she wants to hang with all of us?" Luna asks. "And not with you, alone?"
"I'm sure," he says.
"Really?" she asks.
"Yeah, she wants to sit by the pool, eat dinner at six, and hang out with people who won't talk about the differences between Barcelona and San Diego," he says. "Her words."
"Hang by the pool in a bikini?" she asks.
He shoots her a don't look.
It's serious for him. This is the longest I've seen him keep a straight face in ages.
"Then we're going to the beach after," he says. "She misses the Pacific."
"I forgot how much I like her," Luna says.
"Are you going to help or not?" he asks.
"Have I ever been a bad hostess?" she asks.
"It's not your party," he says.
"Have I ever neglected to make an Inked Love party amazing?"
"Yeah, Tricky's parties suck," he says. "And I want this to be special."
"You like her," she says.
"Yeah. She's my friend," he says. "What is complicated about this?"
"Sure. I'll help your friend have a great time." She turns to me. "What about you, Tricky? Are you bringing Imogen?"
"Is she invited?" I ask.
"Of course," he says. "We need to balance out your dumbness with another smart chick."
Again, Luna shoots him a glare.
Again, he chuckles too easy.
"Sure. Of course," I say. "I'll ask her Saturday."
"Ask her now," Dare says.
Luna laughs. "Aww, impatient. So much love."
Patrick: Hey. What are you doing the weekend after next?
Imogen: You, I hope.
Patrick: Cheesy.
Imogen: I know.
Patrick: I like it.
Imogen: Good.
Patrick: After that?
Imogen: You again?
Patrick: Dare is having a party for his BFF. She's home from Spain (study abroad) and she wants to hang with some cool Americans.
Imogen: Where will you find those?
Patrick: I know, it's tough, but we have you and Luna. We're making progress.
When she doesn't reply immediately, I sweeten the deal.
Patrick: There's a pool.
Imogen: You didn't lead with that?
Patrick: It's probably not up to your standards.
Imogen: A pool is a pool
Patrick: Come to my place early. We can drive together.
Imogen: No, I have a lesson the Saturday after next. I'll meet you there.
Patrick: I'll send the address. What's your BBQ poison?
Imogen: Grilled chicken. And corn on the cob.
Patrick: Done.
Imogen: Is that all?
Patrick: I'm at work.
Imogen: Even so.
Patrick: Bad girl.
Imogen: I know.
Patrick: I have an appointment soon. But I'd love to break to a picture.
Imogen: Make it worth my while.
Patrick: My response will.
Imogen: Hardball, huh?
Patrick: Absolutely.
I can see her smile. I can see her falling into this teasing. It's easy. I want to stay here with her forever, too.
But the second I close our texts, reality crashes into me.
I need to read her entries.
I need to tell her.
"Oh my god, is he sexting here?" Luna asks. "Gross."
"Can I see?" Dare asks.
"Fuck no," I say.
"If it's just words—"
"Fuck. No."
"Aw, he's protective. Isn't that cute?" Dare asks.
"And if I say your 'best friend' is hot? You don't feel any need to protect her?" Luna asks.
"No," he insists.
"What if Tricky says it?" she asks.
"Are you kidding? He's in love," Dare says.
"A single guy? What if she comes back with a boyfriend? Won't that bother you?" she asks.
"No." He doesn't sell it.
She doesn't buy it, but she lets the subject drop anyway. Sorta. She asks how they can make the event memorable and they start talking mixed drinks and appetizers. Anything but ham. She never wants to see Iberian ham again.
My three o'clock arrives. My thoughts turn to work. For an hour and a half, I'm one with the ink, or some cheesy shit like that.
My picture message from Imogen keeps reality at bay—her, in a tiny black tank top, the strap falling off her shoulder.
All night, we flirt.
She comes over. We fuck on the couch, against the wall, over the kitchen counter. We're too excited to make it to the camera in the bedroom. Or maybe we both realize it's too much, demanding intimacy in every fucking arena.
She stays there, in that place that's all desire.
All night.
In the morning, I wake to Imogen typing on her computer, frustration all over her face.
She shakes it off the second she sees me. She slips into something sunny (well, her version of it), fixes chai and oatmeal, chit-chats about the book she's reading.
"Are you okay?" I ask.
"Yeah," she lies.
We fade back into that space, but it's not the same.
I feel the distance when we chat, as we watch a movie, as we kiss.
Even when we fuck in my bed, lie together, revel in the aftershocks.
Then she leaves and it's even more obvious.
She's running away.
An hour later, an alert arrives in my email.
New entry from Hearts and Thorns.
I don't call her to talk. I don't confess. I do the one thing I shouldn't: I read everything.
Chapter Forty-Three
PATRICK
The summer days pass quickly. Appointments, chats with Luna and Dare, texts with Imogen, sessions in my apartment.
She doesn't ask me to open my heart, and I don't press her. I do the wrong thing, again and again. I take every part of her body, then I take her head and her heart too, drinking her thoughts with the thirst of a man in the desert.