Total pages in book: 128
Estimated words: 125845 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 629(@200wpm)___ 503(@250wpm)___ 419(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 125845 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 629(@200wpm)___ 503(@250wpm)___ 419(@300wpm)
“What was that for?” I smile at my boyfriend.
“Just for being you.” Nico takes my hand and brings it up to his lips. Like the Latin heartthrob he is, he brushes a kiss over my knuckles.
He’s being extra sweet tonight, and in all honesty I love it. He turned down my sex advances last weekend because he was too tired, and then he bailed on me this week because of his car. I deserve to be spoiled a bit.
“Go join the group. I’ll grab us some drinks,” Nico offers before heading for the ridiculously long line at the bar.
As I walk toward my friends’ booth, I glimpse a familiar face through the doorway that separates the main room with the adjoining one.
Hunter Davenport is dancing with a stunning brunette in a tight tank and blood-red lipstick. He’s whispering in her ear. When he lifts his head to look at her, I don’t miss the ruddy flush of his cheekbones and his heavy-lidded eyes. Uh-huh. Someone’s getting laid tonight.
I wonder how his lunch girl feels about that…
The idea of dating multiple people sounds like a nightmare to me. Although, what sounds even worse is being the girl who is dating the guy who’s dating multiple people. I’m a possessive bitch, thank you very much. My man’s not allowed to see other women when he’s with me. And if I ever do wind up having to date again, I’d stake my claim immediately and make sure to have the exclusivity talk before the dude is even allowed to hold my hand.
Like my mom always says, know your worth. Make them work for it.
But to each their own. Hunter clearly has a lot of luck with the ladies. The girl he’s dancing with laughs at whatever he just said, and as he shakes his head in amusement, he catches sight of me in the doorway. He dips his chin in greeting.
I blow him a kiss. He grins and refocuses on his date, while I join my friends.
“Demi!” Pippa squeals, jumping out of the booth to throw her arms around me.
“Heya, chica.” Pippa is my best friend at Briar. We met at freshman orientation, discovered we both grew up in Florida, and were instantly inseparable.
“Hey,” our friend Corinne greets me. “I love that skirt.”
“Thanks, it’s like a million years old.” I smooth my hands over the front of my distressed denim skirt. It’s autumn, and I’m still wearing short skirts and tank tops. I don’t know whether to hate or love global warming.
I lean into the booth to smack a kiss on TJ’s cheek. “I can’t believe you’re here,” I tell him. “I’m so glad you came.”
He blushes slightly and takes a huge gulp of his beer. Beside him is Darius Johnson, a good friend of mine and Nico’s.
“Hi, D,” I say.
“Hi, D,” he mimics, and we both grin. When we first met, there was a bit of competition about who’d get to keep the nickname, but in the end we decided to share it.
“Where’s the rest of the crew?” I ask. Wherever Darius is, there’s usually at least three other basketball players not far behind. But they’re nowhere to be found tonight.
“Briar won the hockey game,” Darius explains. “They didn’t want to deal with all the hockey fans. Those guys are nuts.”
As if to prove that point, a trio of dudes choose that moment to drunkenly lumber past our booth screaming, “Bri-ar! Bri-ar!” One of them is waving his black-and-silver jersey in the air, which means he’s stumbling through the bar shirtless. Classy.
Nico returns with a pink daiquiri for me, and a bottle of beer for himself. It’s a Cuban brand that you can rarely find in the States and yet somehow Malone’s actually serves it. It makes me smile, because I’m pretty sure my mom is the one who introduced Nico to that beer. I remember she let him taste hers at my fifteenth birthday party. He’s been drinking it exclusively ever since.
“What have you been up to this week?” I ask Corinne as I slide in across from her. “You never answered my text about unpacking. Did you still want help?”
“I know, I’m sorry. I was dealing with furniture shit. Moving is the worst,” she complains.
Corinne just moved into a one-bedroom apartment in Hastings, only a few blocks from Malone’s, in fact. It’s rare to find housing in town, but Corinne knew the previous tenant, a fellow Econ major at Briar who abruptly decided to drop out. Corinne had an application in with the landlord of the small building before anyone else even knew the apartment was available.
“Moving isn’t that bad,” Nico teases her. “I mean, especially when you have three strapping young men helping you out.” He wiggles his eyebrows.
I snort. Nico and two of his co-workers from the moving company helped Corinne last Sunday, hauling all her boxes and furniture from the house she used to share with five other girls.