Total pages in book: 169
Estimated words: 162138 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 811(@200wpm)___ 649(@250wpm)___ 540(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 162138 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 811(@200wpm)___ 649(@250wpm)___ 540(@300wpm)
“Are you going to move or do I need to manhandle you?” I ask, looking up at Wade.
“Manhandle me?” He raises an eyebrow. “Sounds tempting.”
I roll my eyes and slap his hard stomach. “Move.”
“Fine,” he huffs. He moves and follows me through the building and out the door until we’re in the parking lot.
I stop walking and turn to him. “What are you doing here, anyway?”
“I was dropping off some papers.”
“Oh.” I look at the cars in the lot. There are only three and his is one of them. “I walked here.”
“From Marissa’s?” he asks.
“Yep.” I look down the block, where her shop is, and head that way. “Talk to you later.”
He starts walking next to me.
“Isn’t your car parked over there?”
“Yep.” He shoots me the lopsided smile that all the women go crazy over.
“Soooo. . .?” I signal between us and the sidewalk ahead, but I don’t stop walking.
“Will you be at Medley’s tonight?” he asks.
“Again?”
“What, you can’t hang out two weekends in a row?”
I keep my face impassive and don’t even roll my eyes or answer his stupid question. The answer is a solid no. It has nothing to do with Medley’s, though. They have great food and drinks, and it’s become one of our hangout spots. It’s also become everyone else’s hangout spot. Over the summer, a plethora of families and young professionals moved to Rhodes, nearly doubling the population at record speed.
“Let me guess,” he says when I don’t respond. “Medley’s is too rowdy for you.”
“No. I’m just. . .” I shake my head.
“Boring?” he asks with a cheeky grin.
“If I’m so boring, why do you wanna hang out with me so bad?” I arch an eyebrow and look at him.
He rolls his eyes. “Fine, you’re not boring.”
“I’ll go,” I say, surprising myself. A drink with a friend can’t hurt, and it’s not like I have so much going on.
“Cool.” His smile shows off his dimple and now I roll my eyes. He ignores it. “Eight o’clock?”
“Sure.”
“I’ll pick you up at seven forty-five,” he says.
“Wait. You’re picking me up?” I stop dead in my tracks, and he pivots to start walking in the direction we just came from.
“Yep,” he says from the other side of the sidewalk as he jogs away backward, still smiling at me. “It’s a date.”
“It’s not a date,” I shout back. “I’m serious.”
“I can’t hear you.”
I don’t even bother. I just turn around and keep walking until I get to my car, which is parked in front of Marissa’s businesses. I unlock it, set my bag inside, and relock it as I head to her smoothie store. I walk in, feeling incredibly annoyed, which is normal, but these days when I’m incredibly annoyed, it shows. I hate it. Marissa looks up from behind the counter and arches an eyebrow when she takes in my demeanor.
“What the hell happened to you?” she asks as I reach her.
“Wade invited me to Medley’s, told me he’d pick me up, and then said it was a date.”
“Whoa.” Her brows shoot up. “He finally grew a pair.”
I bring up my hands and shake them, as if it’ll help me get out the words I want to say. “I don’t want to date. I’m not ready.”
“You’re never going to be ready, Lyles. Face it, you’re going to have to fake it till you make it. That’s how my parents started out, and look at them.”
I massage the back of my neck, which is tense because of all of this. “I don’t want to date Wade, and going on a date will lead him on.”
“It’s been three years!” she says as if I need a reminder.
I shoot her a look. “I know exactly how long it’s been.”
“You’re going to end up being one of those cat ladies.”
“I’m allergic to cats.”
She gives me a droll look. “Seriously?”
“I really am, and I hate that being a ‘cat lady’ is used in a negative way, when in reality, they’re probably happier than most people who have partners.”
“Whatever. No cats then. Come out with me. I can be your wing-woman.” She grins wide. “Or I can tell Pres to call his hot friend from work, and we can go out with him so you can meet him.”
“God, no.” I scowl. “I hate lawyers.”
“You’ve never even been with one!”
“And I hate them already.” I turn around.
“You like Pres and he’s a lawyer,” she points out behind me.
“I knew him before he became a lawyer,” I say, as I open the door. “And who says I like him?”
She laughs as I walk out and get in my car. The entire ride home, I’m thinking about what I could wear that would scream “this is not a date.” I could go baggy on him, but I won’t. That served its purpose (barely) and I’m past that stage in my life. I shower, dress, and stand in front of the mirror. My skin keeps its golden complexion from being in the sun every day, and I cut my hair shorter so that it rests on my shoulders when I decide to do beach waves in it, which I did tonight. My makeup looks good, natural, and not date-looking (I hope), and my body looks great in the short summer dress Marissa gave me for my birthday last year. I finish applying lip gloss, slip my feet into cute but comfortable tan sandals, and step back. Okay, so maybe I look like I’m going on a date. Fuck, whatever. I’ll have to remind him all night if that’s what it takes.