Total pages in book: 129
Estimated words: 121764 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 609(@200wpm)___ 487(@250wpm)___ 406(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 121764 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 609(@200wpm)___ 487(@250wpm)___ 406(@300wpm)
“Nope.”
I opened my mouth to argue that she hadn’t had a real meal all day and needed something with more nutrients than a fucking pavlova, whatever that was, but she held up a finger to signal the bartender and ordered it before I had the chance.
A heavy sigh left me, which made her smile like she’d won, and I told the bartender I’d have the grouper before he took our menus and left us be.
“We should toast,” she said, holding up her martini glass. “To new adventures with new friends.”
I grabbed my water glass and tapped it to hers before taking a drink, but she sucked her teeth.
“You can’t cheers with water.”
“Just did. Besides, you’re the one who ordered me a shot instead of a drink.”
“Fair,” she conceded, sipping from her glass. She relaxed a bit when she did, her shoulders visibly releasing from where they’d been tied up by her ears. I saw then the strain at the edge of her eyes, like smiling was taking a little effort tonight.
It made me want to hunt down that motherfucker who made her sad and wring his goddamn neck.
Instead, I got her talking, asking her about college — which she had just graduated from in May. Although she didn’t seem like it was her favorite subject, she indulged me, and I ordered an Irish whiskey and sipped it while she told me all her crazy stories.
The topic of conversation was a staunch reminder of how young Grace was, and how fucked up I was for wanting her.
I knew she was only twenty-two, but sometimes I forgot. She had this air about her that made her feel… ageless. She wasn’t immature, but she wasn’t mature, either. She wasn’t childish, but she wasn’t controlled in the way an adult who’d been hardened by experience was.
She was just this life force, this bundle of joy and adventure. She took the world head on, and I didn’t know anyone else who did that.
When I thought about who I was at twenty-two, I wanted to kick myself for being a fucking pervert. When I was that age, I had no idea about life. I was just a kid who played hockey, hooked up with girls, and partied like it was my job.
Now, I was a thirty-year-old man getting a hard-on for a girl that same age.
She was eight years younger than me.
Hell, when I was twenty-two, she would have been just fourteen.
I was a sick bastard.
This was the kind of shit Taylor Swift would write a song about — and not the good kind of song, either.
I tried to convince myself it was just that I felt protective of her when our food arrived, watching as she dug into her little ice cream dish as if it were a steak, using her knife and fork to cut it into petite-size bites.
Maybe it was just because Vince was one of my best friends on the team, and I knew he’d want me to look out for her.
I actually laughed out loud at that, earning me a quirked brow from Grace as I forked off the first bite of my grouper.
I wanted to protect her, sure.
But I also wanted to hike that dress up and see if she was wearing any panties underneath that thin, floral fabric.
I shook the thought away, and both of us fell a little quiet as we ate. It was only when I saw her eyes losing focus as she drew circles in the leftover glaze on her plate with her fork that I broke the silence again.
“You okay over there?” I asked, dabbing the corners of my mouth with my napkin before I set it over my plate. The bartender appeared a second later to take it, but Grace glared at him like a feral dog when he tried to grab hers, too.
She smiled at me next. “Yeah, I’m great. Why?”
I narrowed my eyes. “Didn’t you hear what I said the other night?”
“You mean your offer to kill my ex? Trust me, I haven’t forgotten. Just trying to plan out the murder weapon.”
The joke was her way of deflecting, and I ignored it. “You don’t have to pretend like you’re happy all the time.”
Her hand froze where she was still drawing designs on her plate with her fork, and she slowly lowered it before letting out a sigh.
“What’s on your mind?”
She ordered another drink before answering, sucking down half of her next martini before staring at where she held the stem of the glass between her fingertips. “I called my mom upstairs.”
“Oh?” I asked, calmly taking a drink of whiskey while I internally freaked the fuck out. Because if she told her mom she was with me, Vince would find out by morning.
“Yeah,” Grace said, still staring at her glass. “I told her I was in Atlanta. You know, just checking in so she’d know I was still alive,” she added with a note of sarcasm I didn’t miss. “Not that she’d care if I wasn’t, or notice, for that matter.”