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 make the mistake of letting my eyes wander down the length of his body. He seems strangely fidgety, and when he pulls his sweater up and over his head, folding it on the back of his chair, my brain short-circuits for at least a second.
A new emotion invades my blood: soft fondness. I blink at his chest and the five grinning male faces there beneath WONDERLAND in the branded, swooping font. “You’re wearing a Wonderland T-shirt?”
“Stevie and I got some merch when you and Juno were stuck in that abysmal porta potty line earlier.”
I laugh-whisper, “Merch. You’ve got the lingo.”
He grins at my slack-jawed awe. “We are on a quest, right? A quest for joy? Do I not need to attain certain knowledge?”
For a beat, I’m speechless. I have a tight feeling in my chest, like twine around my lungs, seeing him in this T-shirt. And not just wearing it, but proudly wearing it. I’ve agreed with Jess about how hot it is that River is such a good dad to Juno, but it’s a truth I can’t look at straight on. I celebrate it for her obliquely, on the sidelines. I want a family, of course, but who knows what that will look like for me. The meet someone + love someone + be together long enough to want to have a kid together math isn’t really mathing for me. I assume my role is being the auntie everyone comes to when they need to learn how to do the perfect winged eyeliner, hide a hangover from a parent, or cry about their first broken heart. I think every child needs someone who adores them unconditionally but is not biologically obligated to. Being attracted to a proud dad is doing weird, painful things to my breathing.
It’s only attraction, I remind myself. Don’t make it into a big deal.
“I didn’t realize their merch sizes went up to giant,” I say, pushing my voice out past the cork of emotion in my throat. I make the mistake of reaching out to touch the shirt absently, curiosity guiding my movements, and realize how firm his body is underneath. “At least this one doesn’t look like it came from the kids’ department.” Holy bicep. I jerk my fingers away like he’s on fire.
“The sizes are confusing,” he admits.
I take a small step back, willing my skin to cool down. “I bought a shirt in women’s large a while ago thinking I’d have something to sleep in. It fits me like a wetsuit.”
He laughs. “I assumed that’s why this one was available. The woman said it was the last size to sell out. Most of their fan base—” He holds up a hand to stop me from correcting him. “No. I thought everyone would look like Stevie and Juno.” Connor motions for me to follow him to where the girls are standing at the edge of the suite, overlooking the crowd. We see a group of women fully decked out in Wonderland merch below us. The suite to our left has three thirtysomething couples, standing at the ledge like we are, laughing and sipping cocktails. The one to our right has a group of teenage girls and a lone dad scrolling on his phone. And throwing my gaze out farther I see a large group of women of all ages, a group of men in LED necklaces singing along to the preshow playlist, a pair of white-haired older women taking photos in front of the giant screens. “It looks like one of your signings,” Connor says.
“Just a little bigger,” I say, laughing.
“Only for now.” He looks over at me, his eyes dropping only briefly to my mouth. “Once the world sees you, Fizzy, they’re going to fall in love.”
eighteen CONNOR
Stevie has always been an exuberant child, driven by her emotions. She dances around the house, does cartwheels in the aisles at the grocery store, and was so overcome when we brought Baxter home that she held him and cried into his silky puppy fur for a full hour. I’m familiar with her squeals of delight when we get the back car on Big Thunder Mountain, and the nonstop giggles that come from her room during a sleepover. But I have never seen my kid like this.
The show hasn’t even started yet, and Stevie and Juno are already up on their feet, dancing and singing along to music videos with the rest of the audience. Fizzy wasn’t kidding when she said that she had an in. We are in a suite, high enough to see the arena, but still reasonably close to the stage. There is also complimentary food, drinks—booze—and our own private toilet. We may never leave.
And Fizzy… I can’t seem to keep my eyes off her. Logically I know it’s self-sabotage to entertain thoughts about how good she looks or how tempting her neck is with her hair pulled back like that, but my brain doesn’t seem to care.