Total pages in book: 94
Estimated words: 95340 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 477(@200wpm)___ 381(@250wpm)___ 318(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 95340 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 477(@200wpm)___ 381(@250wpm)___ 318(@300wpm)
I shrug noncommittally.
I’m the first person to admit that I haven’t dated much. Ergo, I haven’t had the opportunity to get inside a guy's room, let alone his house. Who wants to?
Boys are gross.
I did my best not to stare when Brodie walked through the downstairs of his house, but seriously—shit is scattered everywhere. Not literal shit, obviously, but their things are lying around: clothes.
Bags.
Hockey sticks.
Soda cans.
Plates on the coffee table. Mugs.
Shoes—lots of shoes and boots. A pair of what look like football cleats?
Other sports gear, like the baseball bat leaning next to the front door.
An umbrella? That’s…unexpected. Even we don’t have umbrellas at our place, but now that I’m thinking about it, maybe we should? I hate walking in the rain.
The downstairs of the boys’ house is cluttered—like they have one too many people living here, and I wonder for a second if there are actually five bedrooms or if they’re sharing. Five hockey guys in bunk beds would be hilarious. Crap. What if Brodie’s room is as bad as their shared living space is, and I have to spend the next…I don’t know, twelve hours here?
The horror.
All the bedroom doors on the second story are closed so I cannot verify how messy those are, but I breathe a sigh of relief when Brodie opens his door, and I get my first glimpse inside. Pleasantly surprised, I step through the threshold.
“Oh thank god you’re not a slob,” I remark as Brodie tosses my cute overnight bag on the floor next to the couch, and I don’t take a seat because what I want to do is immediately snoop.
I know, I know. It’s rude to blurt out whatever pops into my brain, but if we’re going to be roomies for the night, I need the lay of the land and to know if anything is lurking. I’m not sure how exciting I find this misadventure, being here with him. Little bit of the unknown mixed in with a bit of spontaneity—the jury is still out how this evening will go.
“Thanks for not thinking I’m a slob?” his low voice growls and he continues to stand near the bed, and if he thinks I didn’t notice him kicking a pair of sneakers under there, he’s wrong.
Ha.
I begin a slow walk around the bedroom as if I were the first detective on a crime scene. Most of his clothes are hanging in the closet—more than a few hoodies are hanging haphazardly off the hangers, threatening to fall to the ground. A round white laundry basket on the floor, filled. Beside it, a few pairs of sneakers.
Brodie watches as I snoop.
Television on the wall adjacent from the bed and at the foot of the bed, a loveseat. He can’t just sit on the bed and watch TV, he has to have a couch in his room?
Guys, man.
There is no dresser but then again, it doesn’t look like he needs one.
His bed is mostly made, the dark navy quilt is pulled mostly over the pillows.
Two pillows, not four, like I have on my bed.
Brodie is a minimalist which doesn’t surprise me as he seems to be a guy of few words, speaking only when he has something to say. If the roles were reversed and he was skulking around my bedroom, I’d be nervously rambling nonstop to fill the silence. I know myself. That’s totally what I’d do.
Desk. Lamp.
Computer chair.
It’s all very basic and what one would expect. Therefore I’m bored and plop myself on the loveseat, which is a small version of a couch with room for two and not much else.
Brodie stands rooted to the same spot he’s occupied on the floor since I marched through his door, near the closet, watching me as if I’m so out of place in his bedroom he doesn’t know what to do with himself. Or like I’m an accident he’s just driven past that he can’t take his eyes off.
Either way, he looks uncomfortable.
I look down.
Still in my robe. “Shit. I should change, eh?”
He nods robotically.
I raise my brows. “Do you mind if I change in here?” I have no way of knowing how gross or clean their bathroom is but I’ll go out on a limb and guess that it’s disgusting. There’s probably pee on the toilet seat.
“In here? Yeah, no problem.” He continues to stand there immobile, not moving.
I stare.
Is he going to leave or am I going to have to ask him?
“Alone?”
“Oh shit. Right. Sorry.” He shakes himself out of his stupor. “Right. Sure I’ll wait outside or whatever.”
God this is awkward.
This was probably a bad idea but it’s almost too late now although he’d probably be hella relieved if I left and went back to my house.
Brodie leaves the room, leaving me alone and I go to my bag. Unzip it. Riffle through and find the shorts and tank I brought since it’s cool but not cold—warmer still in this bedroom—and undo the sash on my robe, slipping out of it in a hurry.