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)
Next to me, Fizzy is as smug as I’ve ever seen her. “Do you see that charisma?” she calls to the room, glass held in front of her. “Hollywood, please hire me as your casting director.”
When it quiets again during another commercial, she taps me and motions to the TV. “Is now when you tell me I was right?”
“Let’s manage expectations.” Most of the room has emptied out during the break, everyone waiting for the loo or off to the kitchen to refill their drinks. “We’ll get numbers tomorrow. Your phone must be blowing up with messages. What’s everyone saying?”
Fizzy drains her glass and leans back against the couch. “Not ready for that level of reality yet. Let me stay in this soft-launch enthusiasm bubble until at least nine tomorrow morning. Then I’ll tiptoe into opinions. But for now”—she motions to the TV—“I was right about you. Say it.”
“You are occasionally clever.”
“Always.”
“An average amount.”
“Tell me I’m the best.”
I smile. “You, Fizzy, are the best.”
“Thank you, wow, I never expected such a compliment, but it means so much.” She hands me her empty glass. “Now please, more wine.”
twenty-nine FIZZY
I get into my car, turn it on, and then sit idling at the curb, staring out at the dark street. This feeling I have right now—the jittery, hyper-adrenaline, restless feeling—most people would have this reaction to seeing themselves on a dating show, to witnessing how the masterful editing made the entire episode sing, and then, at the end of the night, getting the call that the show is on track to being the biggest reality show debut in a decade.
But I know myself and know that the reason I get these kinds of heart flutters is the same reason I became an author in the first place: I love romance. I love the swooping in my chest when I read a good kiss, the choking of my lungs when I get to the angst, the shaken-carbonated blast of joy reading the happily ever after. I just watched eight perfect men vying for my heart, and they’re not even why I have the flutters. I have them because I got to see my new favorite person tonight.
Stretching, I find my reflection in the rearview mirror and glare at that harlot. “Listen up,” I tell her forcefully. “It’s a relief that things didn’t go very, very wrong because you had sex with your producer. Be grateful you can be attracted to someone again. You did it to get it out of your system. Now get your act together and stop thinking about his eyes and his smile and his dick.”
Satisfied, I put the car in gear and drive home.
* * *
I don’t care how confident you are, nobody wants to run into someone when they’re braless, wearing pajama pants, and buying single-serving canned wine at CVS. But as I step out of the booze and spirits aisle at the respectable hour of noon on Sunday, I collide face-first with the center of a very, very solid chest.
“I am so sorry,” I say, quickly dropping to the floor to retrieve my scattered armload of canned rosé.
“Fizzy?”
I glance up, eyes traveling over miles of toned leg—momentarily bummed by the obstruction of black running shorts—until my eyes skip up to one of the best smiles I’ve ever seen. “Isaac?”
He kneels to help me retrieve my spilled treasures and it’s a little embarrassing how many there are. I’m not sure how I managed to balance all of these in the first place.
“Stocking up for hibernation,” I joke as we stand. Even I can appreciate the shame in wasting such soaring specimens of men on pocket-sized me, but who am I to question the universe?
Isaac grins adorably. “Rosé: the perfect winter wine.” He carefully balances my last can on top of the teetering pyramid. “What are the odds of running into each other here?”
“I’m sure you could calculate them, Hot Nerd.”
“Touché.” He laughs and eyes my haul. “Grabbing some quality refreshments for what looks like some day-drinking fun?”
I eye the single Gatorade in his left hand. “We all choose to hydrate in our own way.” He laughs again, and I add, “And it looks like you aren’t suffering similarly, but I felt so mentally drained after the episode aired last night. I’ve been useless all day.”
Isaac nods. “Yeah, I felt the same. I finally went for a run just to get away from every relative within fifty miles who showed up at my house this morning to talk about the show.”
I groan. “My mom has been calling me nonstop since last night. Conveniently forgetting my phone at home while also procuring wine felt like killing two birds with one stone.”
He laughs again, but this time it has a quiet huskiness, the tenor of an inside joke. The sound sends a heated thrill down into my stomach and… what’s that? Pants feelings? For someone who isn’t Connor? Right here in the middle of CVS? Holy shit, baby. I am back!