Total pages in book: 84
Estimated words: 80052 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 400(@200wpm)___ 320(@250wpm)___ 267(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 80052 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 400(@200wpm)___ 320(@250wpm)___ 267(@300wpm)
I need to be more like Tamara.
I try a giggle on for size, and Camila eyes me like I’ve lost my mind. “What are you doing? What was that?”
“A cough.” I shake my head, dismissing her narrow-eyed suspicion. “Now. I need your help. How can I get Blaze’s attention?”
“Are you sure you want Blaze?” Lara asks me with a healthy dose of skepticism.
“Who else would I want?”
They exchange a knowing look.
“Who. Else. Would. I. Want?” I demand.
Camila smirks.
Oh no. Absolutely not. We’re not playing this game again, where they throw out subtle hints that maybe I detest Cole a little more than normal, that I talk about him, complain about him, to an unhealthy degree. So what if hating him is my third-favorite hobby, right behind disliking him and loathing him? It’s important to have interests!
“So, just to be clear, you wouldn’t care if Tamara dated Cole?” Lara wonders.
“He will never date her.”
I say it like it’s a fact. No, a prophecy I’ve read off some ancient scroll. See here? It says Cole is going to die sad and alone.
Lara shrugs and raises her eyebrows. “I don’t know about that . . . Tamara seemed to think he was pretty into her.”
“What proof did she give?!”
At this point I’m leaning so close to Lara I’m like a detective who’s lost my cool in an interrogation. My fists are pounding on the metal table, and I’m snarling at the mouth. Give me answers, damn it!
She smiles as I clear my throat and sit back on my beach towel. Clearly, I got carried away.
I remind myself I don’t care about Cole’s dating life. I have more important things to focus on, like Blaze. Hunky Blaze with his bulging biceps and his perfectly imperfect smile. His brown hair is just long enough that he can tuck it slightly behind his ears. It’s not my normal jam, but I’m kind of digging it.
Apparently, Lara and Camila aren’t interested in helping me bag Blaze, so I’ll have to take matters into my own hands. I’m hardly going to attract his attention by sitting over here on a beach towel, so I think I’ll roast a marshmallow. Yes. A big fluffy white marshmallow that I have to seductively slide onto the end of a long stick, and if it looks slightly erotic (like I’m . . . oh, I don’t know, giving a hand job), well, oopsies! I had no idea. I think I’ll add another, slower this time. I really have to pump it into place.
Oh good!
He’s looking now!
No one else is as close to the fire as I am because it’s balmy and hot out tonight—the bonfire is more aesthetics than survival—but I prefer it that way. I’ve got center stage. I imagine the flames dancing across my face in an alluring way, but clearly, it’s still not enough. Blaze still isn’t coming over here. So—and I’m not proud about this; sorry, Mom—I lean over to get my marshmallows closer to the flames while exhibiting way too much cleavage. I’m nearly toppling out of this lavender dress.
Then I smell something.
Oh right, burning hair.
“Ahhh!” I leap away from the fire, swatting at my head. It didn’t really burn much, just a few strands, but it sufficiently put the kibosh on my little performance.
“You good, Paige?” Oscar adds with a barely restrained smile.
“Yes,” I chirp, trying to brush off my embarrassment.
Now I’ve got nothing to show for all that effort aside from two blackened marshmallows and slightly less hair than I came here with. Blaze isn’t even looking at me anymore. What a waste. I should have really gone for it. Maybe accidentally stuck a finger or two into the flames so Blaze could have played the hero and nursed me back to health.
I could have really played it up, had him carry me all the way back to the resort complex so we could wake up Dr. Missick. I would have been such a good little damsel, crushing my chest against his, nestling my head in the crook of his neck, whimpering on cue.
Yes, risk bodily harm to get the attention of a man. Feminism has got nothing on me!
Lara and Camila don’t say a word as I reclaim my seat beside them on the beach towel. Lara passes me a beer, and I sit and drink, alone and hating myself for thinking of Cole and what he could possibly be up to at a time like this.
Chapter Three
COLE
I was raised by two robots. To this day, I’m not certain of the inner workings of my parents, whether they have real feelings or whether they’re merely mimicking the facial expressions of the humans they live among. Whether they bleed blood or motor oil. Certain questions haunt me: Do my parents go for real yearly checkups at the doctor, or do they just sit in the parking lot for a designated amount of time before driving home for a tune-up in our garage? Do they need to eat to sustain life, or are they just doing it for my benefit? Mmm . . . chicken.