Total pages in book: 127
Estimated words: 123435 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 617(@200wpm)___ 494(@250wpm)___ 411(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 123435 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 617(@200wpm)___ 494(@250wpm)___ 411(@300wpm)
Granted, I say that now. But considering I bawl at those courier commercials where the lonely grandmother receives a holiday card from her grandkids, I’d probably collapse in a pool of tears at my dumper’s feet and then promptly check myself into a posh wellness facility for melancholia.
“Okay. Cool.” He chuckles too, albeit wryly. “I guess that’s that, then.”
“That’s that,” she echoes. “Are we good?”
“Of course. We’ve known each other since we were thirteen. We’re not going to stop talking just because we’ve stopped banging.”
“I’m holding you to that,” she warns.
Finally, blessedly, miraculously—they’re done. The interaction ends. Her flip-flops smack loudly against the sand as she walks away, taking the beach route toward the party.
One down.
One to go.
To my dismay, the guy moves closer to the water, where he proceeds to stand like a statue, staring out. The new position places him closer to a shard of moonlight, providing a better view of him. He’s tall. Muscular. Wearing board shorts and a T-shirt, although I can’t tell what color they are because it’s too dark. I think his hair might be blond. And he’s got a great butt. I don’t tend to notice butts—didn’t think I was a butt girl, in fact—but this one really draws the eye.
With his back to me, this is my chance to creep away. I slowly rise to my feet and wipe my clammy hands on the front of my denim shorts. Man, I hadn’t realized how wrought with tension I was. My palms only get sweaty before a first kiss and a particularly harrowing situation. Aka every conversation with my mother. Ergo, my palms are perpetually damp.
I take a deep breath, and then a small step.
Relief flutters through me when the guy doesn’t turn my way. Yes. I can totally do this. Hell, I only need to make it to that dune ten feet away. If he notices me after that, I can pretend I came from the grass. Oh sorry! Just taking a walk, didn’t see you there!
Escape is within reach. I can taste it. So, of course, I make it about five feet before my phone decides to thwart my efforts by loudly alerting an incoming text.
And then another one.
And another one.
The guy spins around, startled.
“Hey.” His deep, suspicious voice travels toward me in the night breeze. “Where the hell d’you come from?”
I feel my cheeks heat up. I’m grateful it’s too dark for him to see the blush. “I’m sorry,” I blurt out. “I, um …” My brain scrambles for a suitable reason for my presence. It fails. “I didn’t hear a single second of your breakup, I swear.”
Oh, fucking hell. Brilliant, Cassandra.
That gets me a faint laugh. “Not a single second, huh?”
“Nope, not a one. Seriously, I can assure you I most certainly did not just sit here and listen to you get dumped.” My mouth has run away from me. It’s in charge. It’s the captain now. Another thing that happens when I’m nervous: I tend to babble. “For what it’s worth, you handled it well. I mean, you didn’t drop to your knees and cling to her legs and beg her not to go. So I’m grateful for that. Spared us both more embarrassment, you know? It’s almost as if you knew I was trapped behind that log over there.”
“Trust me, if I knew you were sitting there, I would’ve upped the sadness factor by like two hundred percent. Thrown in some tears, maybe cursed at the heavens and bemoaned my poor broken heart.”
He saunters closer, and when I get a better look at his face, my heart instantly speeds up. Holy shit, he’s gorgeous. What on earth was that girl thinking letting him get away?
I sweep my gaze over his classically handsome features. I wish I could discern what color his eyes are, but it’s too dark out here. I was right about the blond hair, though, so I assume he has light-colored eyes. Blue. Maybe green. In those board shorts and slightly rumpled tee, he looks like the quintessential beach boy.
“And why would you have done that?” I ask.
“You know, just to make you extra uncomfortable. As punishment for your eavesdropping.”
“Involuntary eavesdropping.”
“That’s what they all say.” His mouth curves into a mischievous smile, which I think might be his default expression. He tips his head thoughtfully. “But you know what, I’ll let it slide. I can never hold a grudge against a cute girl.”
My cheeks get hotter.
Oh my God.
He thinks I’m cute?
I mean, I did select tonight’s outfit with the end goal being cuteness. Short shorts that give my legs a deceptively longer look, paired with a tight tank top. Black, because that’s the only color with the ability to make my boobs appear smaller. In light colors, they’re bouncing around like two uncontained beach balls, even with a super supportive bra.