Total pages in book: 118
Estimated words: 112961 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 565(@200wpm)___ 452(@250wpm)___ 377(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 112961 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 565(@200wpm)___ 452(@250wpm)___ 377(@300wpm)
“I think so,” I say, willing it to be true.
Connor balls up the last taco wrapper and drops it into the paper bag. “When you met those Base and Silver Matches, tell me what you were looking for. What worked for you? What didn’t? Basically, who am I looking for when I start casting tomorrow?”
“Well, I want to know who they voted for and where they stand on several political and social issues. I know I’m supposed to say that I can look beyond that, but I know I don’t work that way. There are some things that are nonstarters for me, and overt political questions aren’t on the DNADuo intake forms.”
He nods and pulls out his phone to write in his Notes app. “I agree.”
“And I guess I want what most women want: someone who makes me laugh and doesn’t take themself too seriously. Someone who’s ambitious but good, who’s supportive of me and the things I love. But mostly, I want us to be head over fucking heels for each other.”
I look out over the water and think of Jess’s face when River walks into the room. It’s the same way my dad’s eyes light up when he sees my mom; it’s how completely whipped my brother-in-law is for Alice. I know what love looks like—and I’ve written it so many times—but I’ve never felt it myself.
He looks at me across the table. There’s no judgment in his eyes, no pity, only empathy and compassion. “Those seem like pretty reasonable requests.”
“I have no idea what this will be like, but I hope I end up being what you wanted for the show. I’d started to wonder if maybe I was going to find peace with being single. I was wrapping my head around that when we first met that day in your office, you know?”
“Yeah,” he says with gentle understanding.
“I also think we both said yes to this project for reasons that weren’t all about us.”
His eyes meet mine and I see unspoken agreement there.
“I was worried North Star had no idea what they were doing,” I say. “I thought you were a dick.”
This time his “Yeah” is carried on a laugh.
I grin at him. “See? Core assumptions. I don’t think that anymore, if that helps.”
Connor offers a knowing smirk. “It does, thank you.”
I don’t say the other part out loud, that not only do I not think he’s a dick, I’m actually deeply attracted to him and wonder if I can ignore it for the sake of the show.
I know myself. It’s unlikely.
We gather our things and I use the public restroom while he waits for me nearby. When I return, he’s ending a call. “Everything good?” I ask.
“Just saying good night to my daughter.” He motions for me to lead the way as we head back toward the car. It’s one of the most beautiful nights in recent memory. The air is warm, heavy with condensation; the briny ocean breeze feels like a gentle cloak.
“This weather is so perfect,” I say, taking this last moment to soak it all in. I’m finally coming back into myself and the beast part of me wants to throw myself into his arms just to thank him, to tell him he has no way of knowing that he’s helped me just by being attractive and laid back and a good listener. But I manage to contain the impulse, continuing only to say, “I want to stuff this happiness in a pie crust and eat it with ice cream.” I close my eyes, pretending to take bites of the sky, “Nom, nom, nom.”
When I look back at him, he’s staring down at me with an unreadable expression.
A haze of electricity settles around us and I don’t know where to look. My eyes keep getting dragged back to him, to his throat or lips or shoulders or those massive hands. I’m never in the gray area like this, where I’m attracted, and I think he’s attracted—but I’m not sure—and even if he is, I don’t think we’re supposed to do anything about it. My romantic life before, I realize, has been so black-and- white. Accept or refuse. Take to bed, or don’t. No subtlety, nothing nuanced.
At his car he reaches past me, and it’s only after I’ve tilted my face to his that I realize he’s not coming in for a kiss. He’s unlocking the door for me. But then he doesn’t pull back immediately. He stares down at me, looking a little lost.
“Should we head home?” he asks.
“I guess.”
Even coming from San Ysidro, the drive is too short, and I watch out the window as the car slows at my curb. Connor looks at me across the console, and it suddenly feels like making out, this eye contact, the way his gaze softens and makes a circuit of my face. But then he sucks in a sharp breath, turning and bursting out of the car.