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)
“Avocado mousse,” he said, then flitted away. I gave it a blank look.
“You’re not going to try it?” Jay asked. “Is it because it looks like baby shit?” He faked disappointment. “What happened to your sense of adventure?”
“It’s in the napkin with the tofurkey.”
When he gave a perfect smile, my whole body tightened. It should be illegal to be that good-looking. I was going to corner Marcy the first chance I got and demand to know why she hadn’t set us up.
“What’s that?” I said, motioning over his shoulder.
He turned to look at the nonexistent thing I’d pointed out and peered at the other tables. “What’s what?”
I didn’t answer. Instead, I switched my green mousse with his delicious looking cake, and was taking my first bite when his gaze swung back around to meet mine. He evaluated the situation and his mouth turned up into another playful grin.
I nearly passed out from the vapors.
He grabbed his plate and slid it halfway between us, and dug out a forkful of the cake for himself. “You said your major’s journalism?”
“Yeah. I want to do on-air stuff. I used to host the news on my high school’s channel, and I liked it.” I didn’t want to sound cocky and aimed for confidence. “I like writing the stories, reporting them, and I’m comfortable in front of a camera.” I quit while I was ahead. My real ambition was to be a sportscaster for a major network like ESPN, but I didn’t want to steer the conversation into that corner. “How about you? Your major?”
He ate another forkful of cake. “Computer science.”
“How many semesters do you have left?”
His gaze went cloudy for a moment. “I’m a senior, so it should be my last year, but . . . My spring semesters are always heavier than the fall, and last year’s nearly kicked my ass.” He set his fork down, as if saving the last bite of cake for me. “I’ve got my work cut out if I’m going to finish on time, but I’m going to try. You?”
“Same. I’m a senior. I have a feeling these last two semesters will be tough for me, too.” Could I talk about my cheerleading commitment without violating Marcy’s no-sports rule?
We were interrupted when the adorable couple next to us asked if Jay would take their picture. He took the phone and snapped a few shots, and as I watched their bright faces, a pang of envy hit me. Attending four weddings solo was beginning to make me feel like the only single girl in Ohio. It gave me an idea, and I tugged my phone from my purse.
“Let’s take a pic together,” I said, once Jay finished. “You know, to document our joint survival of the dietary-restricted meal option.” I geared up the phone and held it out to him. “Hope your selfie skills are better than mine.”
He took the phone and held it up and out, angling down as we leaned toward each other. As I stared at our image mirrored on the screen, I couldn’t help but think we looked good together.
“Want me to tag you in it?” I asked.
Jay lowered my phone and paused. A weird expression streaked across his face and then disappeared. “I used to be on social media, but I’m not anymore. It’s . . . I don’t have time for it.”
“Oh.” I shifted into plan B. “Feel free to put your number in there, so I can send you a copy.”
Could he hear how nervous I was about saying that? I wasn’t shy in the traditional sense. Put me in front of one hundred thousand screaming fans and I was at home. I didn’t get flustered in front of the camera, either. If stuff started to go crazy, I fed off the chaos and grew more focused.
But it was entirely different with guys, and I’d crashed and burned by the end of dinner at the last three weddings. I’d had nowhere near the chemistry I had with Jay, and didn’t want to blow it.
Jay fumbled the phone. Anxiety rattled in my stomach when his thumbs didn’t move. He stared at the screen. Was he thinking about a way to politely decline? I was a half-second from flipping the table and bolting in embarrassment when he scrolled to the contacts and began typing.
“You keep beating me to the punch,” he said. “I was going to offer to put my number in your phone.” He finished and passed it to me, and the light in his gorgeous eyes made me weak. “So, you can contact me in case there are any side effects from dinner.”
Was he kidding? There were already side effects, and they were mostly below my waist. Which was shocking. I’d never had a reaction to a guy that was this intense.