Total pages in book: 91
Estimated words: 89883 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 449(@200wpm)___ 360(@250wpm)___ 300(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 89883 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 449(@200wpm)___ 360(@250wpm)___ 300(@300wpm)
“Dude, I couldn’t go fast if you paid me.”
“I’ll pay you to never call me ‘dude’ again.”
I glance up at him. “What’s wrong with ‘dude’?”
“Just—I’m ‘dude’ to friends.”
“I’m your friend.”
“Guy friends.”
“Oh.” I look away. My skates glide smoothly over the rink’s polished wooden surface. A Larry David-lookalike zooms by us, his strides easy, fast, and beautiful. I try to mimic his confidence. The way he crosses one leg over the other. For a second, I think I got it. Brooks and I really start to move, a small breeze pushing my bangs out of my eyes. I smile.
Then promptly get my skates caught in each other. I lurch forward. My stomach pitches and I squeeze my eyes shut, preparing for impact. But a hand grabs mine and yanks me back upright.
Yanks me right into the wall of Brooks’s chest. I’m suddenly and securely on my feet, my bent arms trapped between us. His eyes lock on mine, the neon lights overhead making them look like pools of bright blue.
“You all right?”
My brain is short-circuiting at the feel of his pecs beneath my forearms. One of my hands is still clasped in his. “I’m so bad at this.”
His lips twitch. “You’re doing great.”
“You’re a terrible liar. But great at staying in control. Thank God one of us is.”
A spark catches in his eyes, somehow lighting them up and making them darken at the same time. “Thank you.”
He’s still holding me against him. His eyes flick to my mouth. A clap of thunder erupts inside my skin as the tug between our bodies intensifies. My blood begs me to press my hips into his.
Thank God I have the peace of mind to ignore it. I’m just . . . starving. For this. Not only Brooks’s chest and the feel of his hand around mine and the delicious way he smells. But how he looks out for me. He’d never let me fall on my face.
Does he know he’s still holding my hand? Maybe I’m distracting him from what he came here to do—commemorate his sister. For that reason and a million others, I should pull away.
I have to pull away, before my silly, starved heart starts getting ideas.
“Here, I’ll take five,” I say, slipping my hand out of his. “Let you skate for a while.”
But he grabs my hand. “Absolutely not. I saw that smile. You’re having fun, which is exactly why we’re here.”
Oh. I like the idea that having fun is how he commemorates his sister.
I also like how he paid attention to my smile.
“You sure? I feel like you’re spending all your time babysitting me.”
“That’s a problem because . . .?”
I blink. “I want you to have fun too.”
“Skating with you is fun. And I like being your instructor.” His eyes search mine. “I need your company, Greer. It’s helping.”
My heart swells. Without thinking I give his hand a squeeze. “Then I’ll stay.”
“Good. Because I fucking love Donna Summer.”
“She is kind of the best.”
Keeping his hand wrapped firmly around mine, Brooks leads me back into the circle of skaters making their way around the rink. He goes slowly at first. But when I start to get a feel for my skates, we speed up. When I actually feel confident, I even shake my ass a little to the beat, raising my arms to dance to “Rhythm of the Night”. The music gets louder. We go faster, Brooks expertly guiding us through growing traffic. I throw my head back and belt out every word to an Adele song.
He shocks me when he does the same.
“You like Adele?” I shout.
He turns his head and lifts a shoulder. “Who doesn’t?”
I stop at the DJ booth to request another Adele hit. Brooks laughs when it comes on. I lurch. He catches me with an arm looped around my middle, and we both end up laughing so hard it takes us a whole song to catch our breath. I don’t miss the way his touch lingers on my side, my hip, and for a second I fantasize that he’s feeling it too—the tug between us.
But that’s just stupid. He flirts with everyone, right? I saw firsthand at the printer yesterday morning how Brooks can pick up any girl he wants. And clearly he wants someone polished. Pretty.
Someone who’s on his level.
He said he needed me tonight, but maybe he meant that only as a friend. Being around him, though, is making me realize what I need in someone who’s more than a friend. So many guys make me feel like they’re doing me a favor by hanging out. Like I should be grateful that a god like them deigns to begrudgingly try to bang a deeply flawed mortal like me. I always end up feeling like I should be sorry I even exist because I’m not pretty or funny or cool enough.