Total pages in book: 69
Estimated words: 65712 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 329(@200wpm)___ 263(@250wpm)___ 219(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 65712 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 329(@200wpm)___ 263(@250wpm)___ 219(@300wpm)
“You have no idea,” I saw slowly, my eyes not leaving hers. She gets my meaning and her eyes widen and she gnaws on her lower lip.
“I’m sure,” she agrees, clearly at a loss in how to reply. She slows in front of a window display at Fishs Eddy. “Let’s go in here,” she says. She bounces on her toes a little when she says it. I glance at the window display—looks like an assortment of shit from Grandma’s garage sale, but if it puts a smile on her face, I’m in. I grab the door and follow her inside.
I trail her through the store watching her make a loop, pausing at things that interest her, running her fingers across items of particular interest. I have no idea what I’ve stumbled into. The store is jam-packed from front to back with the oddest assortment of housewares shit. But Chloe is enthralled. Much of it has a funky vintage flair and reminds me a bit of the assortment of picture frames she had hung in her apartment. After looking at everything she goes back through the store a second time and picks up a small selection of items, chattering about Christmas before heading to the register. It’s October so I’m not sure what the fuck she’s talking about, but I don’t say anything.
We exit the store and continue walking around the Flatiron district, ducking into stores that catch her interest. We end up in front of Beecher’s.
“Let’s have dinner.” I nod to the shop. “They have a restaurant downstairs.”
“You couldn’t get a date for tonight either?” She stops dead on the sidewalk, eyebrow raised in disbelief.
“You need the practice. Come on,” I tell her, holding the door open. She shakes her head and rolls her eyes but enters the store. It’s early so we’re seated immediately. Chloe buries her head in the menu and I start to wonder if I imagined the way she looked at me back at the donut shop when she snaps the menu closed and speaks.
“Why did the orange go out with the prune?”
I can feel my lips pull into a smile as much as I attempt to resist and keep a straight face. “You’re nervous? We’re just practicing, remember?”
She twists in her seat a little and nods. “True.”
The waitress stops by and takes our orders. Steak for me, macaroni and cheese for Chloe.
“Macaroni and cheese?” I ask, my tone teasing and brow lifted.
“We’re in a restaurant underneath a cheese shop, Boyd,” she says, stressing the word cheese. “I bet it’s the best macaroni and cheese in the world and you’re gonna be so jealous when it gets here.”
“If you say so.”
“You will be.”
“So why did the orange go out with the prune anyway?”
She blinks for a second then smiles. “Because he couldn’t find a date!” Then she laughs. “Get it? Date? Like the fruit?”
“Got it.” I incline my head in acknowledgment. “Speaking of dates, do you have any this week? Anything I can prep you for?” How the fuck am I supposed to deal with her dating? What if she finds some guy who likes these ridiculous second-grade jokes and she wants to fuck him? That’s not going to work for me.
“No.” She shakes her head, rolling her eyes at herself. “Last week was an anomaly to be honest. I don’t get out that much.” I wait for her to laugh or crack a smile, but she picks up a piece of bread and rips off a tiny chunk instead. “There was this one guy I’ve been talking to for weeks online.”
Well, that’s fucking great.
“But then he asked me to get a tattoo. Which is weird, right?” She looks to me for confirmation but keeps speaking without giving me a chance to reply. “I never even met him. But he asked me to get a tattoo. Of his name. On my freaking body.”
Fuck, no.
“He said to put it on my hip or somewhere sexy.” She leans in closer and lowers her voice. “He said this way he would know that I’m not sleeping with anyone else.”
I eye her for a moment. “You’re making that up.”
“I’m not.” She shakes her head back and forth. “That is a true story.” She punctuates her sentence with a fingertip in the air. “Anyway, I should spend some time studying those books before I go on another date.” She’s serious.
“Chloe,” I groan. “Throw those ridiculous books away. You need real-life practice, not a book.”
She pauses, having just stuffed the piece of bread into her mouth, and stares at me. I can practically hear her mind whirring, wondering if I’m referring to real-life sex practice or real-life dating practice. I’m definitely referring to sex.
“Um, yeah,” she mumbles noncommittally and continues chewing.
The waitress arrives with our orders and Chloe digs in, emitting a happy little sigh as a cheesy noodle hits her tongue. She takes another bite and moans. She wiggles in her chair but I don’t think it’s for the same reason that I’ve just had to adjust my goddamned cock.