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)
“That’s called a boyfriend,” Everly says, not blinking.
“No.” I shake my head again. “We’re just Chloe-and-Boyding.” Holy shit, that makes no sense. Why did it make sense when Boyd said it?
“Is he seeing anyone else?” This is from Sandra.
“No,” I whisper. “I don’t think so.” We haven’t talked about it, but I know he’s not. Besides, he’s always with me. I don’t know when he’d have the time to be with someone else. Oh, my God. Have I been dating Boyd this entire time? Without knowing it?
“And you closed your online dating profiles, didn’t you?”
“No!” I object. “I didn’t. I just haven’t opened them since we went to New York,” I add in a muffled sigh. Not muffled enough because Everly is all over that.
“You went to New York together too?”
“Just that one time, for the day. To find a dress for the wedding.”
“Yeah. All that is called dating.” She waves a finger in the air. “You’re dating Boyd.”
I think I’m going to throw up.
“You might even be engaged,” Everly continues. “For all you know.”
Is that what I want? To be dating Boyd? What if it doesn’t end well? Sophie’s his sister—and one of my best friends. It would be awkward if it didn’t end well. It’s already awkward. And I don’t want it to end.
“Why didn’t you ask him to do the career day thing at your school next month?” Sophie questions.
“What?” I stare at her blankly.
“He seemed kinda put out that you didn’t ask him to do it. It didn’t make any sense to me at the time,” she says. “Since I didn’t know you were secretly dating,” she adds, drily.
“He’s probably worried that he’s your sidepiece,” Everly pipes in. “Since you don’t invite him to anything,” she adds, examining her manicure. “Hey, are you pregnant by any chance? Remember how Sophie didn’t know she was pregnant? That might be a thing you can add to your collection of things you don’t know are happening.” Her eyes light up and she places a hand on her chest. “Can I be the godmother?”
“I’m not pregnant.” But I do feel sick.
Twenty-Five
Chloe
I’m so confused. Has Boyd been lying to me all this time? Does he think we’re dating? And since when? Has he always thought we were dating? Why lie about it? All this favor stuff and being nice and making me fall in love with him on the sly. Maybe I have been living in a bubble of denial, but Boyd’s been lying. Right? I need a favor, Chloe. I like you, Chloe. Pretend with me, Chloe. What parts were real?
I look up, startled to see that I’m at Boyd’s. I don’t remember walking here. I remember leaving lunch, but did I really just walk a mile without seeing anything? I hover on the sidewalk, unsure of what I’m doing. I stare at my feet on the pavement and bounce my toes inside of my shoes before pulling open the door. I make it into the lobby before remembering that I’ve never been here without Boyd, and this is a secure building, meaning I can’t make it past the lobby without a key or getting buzzed in or whatever. And I don’t even know if he’s home right now.
“Miss Scott, did you need to be buzzed through?”
I turn to look at the concierge, a tall distinguished-looking man in his fifties. I’ve seen him before, a bunch of times, but I don’t think I’ve ever spoken to him. Actually, I know I haven’t because I think I just detected an English accent, and I’d’ve remembered that. How the heck does he know my name?
“I’m here to see a resident,” I stammer, unsure of how to proceed.
“Of course, Miss Scott. You’re on Mr. Gallagher’s list. I’ll buzz you through.”
I’m on his list. Another thing I didn’t freaking know about.
I skip the elevator in favor of the stairs. He’s only two flights up and honestly? I have no idea what I’m going to say to him when I get there.
But I don’t have long to think about it because he’s waiting for me at the door. Apparently the buzzing through service includes a heads up to the tenant.
He’s leaning against the frame, watching me walk down the hall towards him. His arms are crossed against his chest. He’s in another one of the shirts he got that day we went to New York and a pair of faded well-worn jeans. When I get closer I also see he’s annoyed, his eyes dull and his expression guarded.
Wait.
Is he mad at me? Oh, heck, no.
Because I’m mad at him.
And really, is there anything more annoying than someone who’s mad at you when you’re the one who’s supposed to be mad? No. No, there is not.
“Nice of you to come back,” he comments. The muscle in his jaw flexes and then he pushes off the doorframe and rubs his jaw with his hand, following me into his loft.