Total pages in book: 96
Estimated words: 89953 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 450(@200wpm)___ 360(@250wpm)___ 300(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 89953 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 450(@200wpm)___ 360(@250wpm)___ 300(@300wpm)
“Nah,” he said. “Guys like a girl who takes initiative. Hey, I wish I had balls like you.” His sarcastic voice rang in my ear. “Maybe Beth would be interested in me, then.”
My friend had a one-track mind. It was wall-to-wall coverage, all Beth, all the time. His massive crush on the girl was cute, but he suffered from crippling shyness. “You have to exist for her first. You guys really need to have, like, a conversation. One conversation, Chuck, about anything. Get on her radar. Then you can worry about your balls.” I made a face. “Why are we talking about your balls?”
His laugh was punctuated by beeping, which had to be the microwave at our place. Most college kids ate ramen noodles because they were cheap and fast. Not Chuck. He freaking loved them. I’d seen him pace in front of the microwave, twitchy and jonesing for his next fix.
I went serious. “What if he’s not in there, and I drove ninety minutes for nothing?”
Not only would it be embarrassing, but my car wasn’t in the best of shape, and every time I got behind the wheel, I was playing roulette. Eventually, my ancient Kia Rio was going to need to go live on a farm where it could frolic and play with other Kia Rios.
“Well,” Chuck said, “if he’s not there, I get to make fun of you.” He paused. “I’m sure he is, though. Positive thinking, right?”
Ever the optimist, my friend. He kept me bubbly and hopeful. “Yeah.”
The microwave issued a long beep, and I pictured the thrilled look on his face. “Gotta go, my gourmet meal is finally ready. Good luck!”
“Thanks.”
I hung up, put my phone in my purse, and pushed my door open, determined to march into Biff’s before I started to waffle again.
It was nearing the end of summer, but the heat was still in full force, and the air outside felt sticky. I walked across the broken pavement of the lot, my heels crunching on the gravel. Wearing heels had been a no-brainer. If Jay was in there, I wanted the extra three inches, and the simple sandals made my legs look longer, and less like I’d spent years climbing to the top of human pyramids.
I rounded the side of the building and ran my sweaty palms over the pockets of my jean shorts, then placed them on the large wooden door.
Please let him be inside.
I pushed it open and stepped across the threshold. I scanned the wide room quickly. My initial impression said it was like any other bar. Dimly lit, over-decorated with sports stuff on the walls. The large plasma TV over the bartender’s head cut to commercial the moment I focused on it, but I’d caught the green field and men in helmets.
My skin tingled with pin-pricks. Something was wrong.
In the center of the room, there was a glass display case. From the lighting, size, and placement, it was clear how proud the bar’s owner was of it. Confusion constricted my brain. What the hell was the furry thing inside?
It was a skunk that wasn’t black and white. It stood upright, its paws displaying the long, scary-looking claws protruding outward, and a wicked snarl on its muzzle—
“Oh. My. God,” I muttered.
It was a wolverine. The plaque on the display case read “Biff. Official Mascot of the University of Michigan, 1927.”
My muscles locked into place. The door slammed shut behind me and my startled gasp drew the gazes of the few customers sitting at the bar. One of whom had striking eyes. The color matched the navy blue of the flag hanging over the display case, decorated with an ugly yellow M.
No. No, no, no!
Jay’s after-work hangout was a Michigan-fan bar.
-8-
JAY
The foam of my beer was more exciting than the conversation Smitty was trying to have with me. The usual guys I hung out with had bailed, and I would have too, if I wasn’t still trying to get over the weekend. Fuck, I’d been sure Kayla was going to text or call, but it’d been radio silence.
I was stuck with Smitty. He was at least ten years older, and clung to me like a remora to a shark, hitting on any women who came our way.
I’d left a message with Dave on Sunday afternoon asking for Kayla’s number, but remembered afterward he’d already left for his honeymoon. So, I’d come to Biff’s to lick my wounds tonight. The sting of rejection was new and probably good for me, but I hated it. Our kiss against the wall had been short, but hot, and I’d thought there’d be more. I certainly wanted more. She’d gotten my gears grinding in all the right ways, and talking to her had easily been the best conversation I’d had with a girl in years.
I thought we’d clicked.