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)
Then stop in the middle of the sidewalk and stare at it some more.
Should she wear a sweater to class or a blazer with jeans? What the hell is she asking me for?
What the hell do I care?
It’s on the tip of my fingers to reply when another message comes through.
Lizzy: OMG so sorry, that was for Jill – accidentally sent it to you. Whoops **tongue sticking out emoji**
Brodie: That confused the shit out of me lol
I’m grinning down at my phone, damned if I’m not.
Lizzy: Sorry ’bout that!!
I’m still standing in the center of the sidewalk, not having gone a single inch since her first message, grateful I haven’t walked head first into a light post yet.
Brodie: Eh. What’s the speech for??
Lizzy: Business comm—everyone has to do a five-minute speech and I’m dreading it.
I heft my bag on my shoulder and start walking again.
Brodie: I hate public speaking…
Lizzy: I’m not looking forward to it.
Lizzy: But if you have any opinion on what I should wear, feel free to chime in ha ha
Brodie: I say sweater. Then you’re comfortable.
Lizzy: Good point.
I’m at a curb and step down into the street, not needing to look both ways before I cross. The neighborhood is quiet, and traffic has died down since it’s well after dinnertime.
I look at my phone again.
No new message.
Look again three seconds later, expecting there to be one.
This is stupid.
Why is she texting me to begin with?
It was an accident. She meant to message her roommate, you moron.
No she didn’t. She meant to message you and it couldn’t be more obvious.
The hell it was an accident. I’ve seen enough chick flicks to know a fake, accidental text when I see one.
Brodie: What are you up to right now?
Ugh! Why did you ask her that?
Lame!!!!! At least come up with something original. Or ask her something specific about herself.
I shove my phone back inside my pocket and try to ignore it, and
I’m halfway down the block when it vibrates again; my heart quickens.
Lizzy: I was about to paint my toenails.
About to paint my toenails.
I have no idea what to say to that so that’s what I say except that sounds pretty fucking cute.
Brodie: I have no idea what to say to that.
Lizzy: LOL awwwww.
Awwww – what does she mean by that? God I feel stupid right now.
Brodie: Uh. What color?
Lizzy: LOL
Lizzy: What color do you THINK I’m painting my toes.
If I knew, I wouldn’t have to ask.
Still, I stop on the sidewalk again because apparently, walking and thinking are not two things I can do at the same time.
Brodie: I have no idea. Pink?
Lizzy: I went with lilac this time.
Brodie: I have no idea what lilac is.
Lizzy: It’s light purple basically
Why couldn’t she have just said that the first time instead of making me guess?
Lizzy: I’ll show you next time I see you.
Lizzy: So what are you up to right now?
Brodie: Walking home from practice.
Lizzy: WALKING home? Isn’t it far?
Brodie: I could use the exercise lol
Lizzy: Okay, but it’s almost dark out.
Brodie: I’m a big boy. I can handle it.
I’m a big boy? Why the fuck did I go and say that? I sound like an idiot.
Lizzy: Are you sure?
Brodie: That I’m a big boy?
My pulse ticks.
Steps falter.
Barely notice when I’m outside her house—and mine—staring at that ground floor where her bedroom window is.
If I were Sully, I would walk up to her door and knock. If I were Sully, I would have some clever, snarky, or sexual comeback. But I’m not him and never will be, so I walk past her house and through the grass from her yard to mine, ducking my head as if to shield my identity.
Don’t leave her on read, asshole. Say something.
Lizzy: Why are you using a question mark?
Brodie: If you’re thinking about a certain body part, then yes, I’m a big boy.
Lizzy: Wait. Are we talking about the same thing?
Brodie: Fuck. Maybe we’re not?
Shit.
Shit, shit, shit.
Fuck.
Now she thinks I’m a pig.
I take the stairs up to my bedroom two at a time, slamming into my bedroom and dropping my bag, still needing that shower and still wet from the one I had back at the ice rink.
I pull the shirt from my body and toss it to the corner of the room. Remove my bottoms, wanting to drown myself in the shower to save myself from this humiliating conversation…
Lizzy: Okay but tell me why you were using a question mark—has this topic been up for debate? Inquiring minds want to know…
Is she talking about my dick again?
Someone send me a map, I have no idea what to say.
Brodie: No! It’s never been up for debate.
Yup.
Definitely need a cool shower if we’re going to bring up my cock.
Poor dude.
I glance down at him hanging between my legs, setting my phone on the counter in the shower, determined to ignore it.