Total pages in book: 73
Estimated words: 69858 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 349(@200wpm)___ 279(@250wpm)___ 233(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 69858 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 349(@200wpm)___ 279(@250wpm)___ 233(@300wpm)
“Your turn to share,” he says. “V-Cut.”
“Ah. Kris.” I reach out and take the chocolate peanut butter shake from Thomas’s hand and contemplate how real to get, and decide to repay his candor with some of my own.
“Honestly?” I say. “I’m kind of relieved. Don’t get me wrong, I still sort of want to kill him for leaving me in the lurch like that. But I’m not bummed that he won’t be a part of this weekend.”
“Even though he was exactly what you wanted?”
Was he?
I shrug in response.
“I find it rather vexing,” Thomas says thoughtfully. “That Anna seemed so perfect on paper, or on the screen, as it was, and she checked all of my boxes, and yet . . .”
“Something’s missing?” I supply for him.
“Right.” Thomas looks frustrated. “But what?”
“Hell if I know. I mean, I only have the one box, but . . .”
“What’s that?” he says, looking acutely interested.
“A V-cut, of course.”
He lets out a quick, surprised laugh. “Right. Of course.”
And then our eyes lock, just for a split-second, and our laughter fades as we both look away, and I wonder if we’re wondering the same thing: That we may not know how to name that something that’s missing, but we know it when we find it.
Trying to snap out of it, I give him a more thorough once over, taking in his no-hair-out-of-place cut, the great jawline that would never dare to miss a single day of shaving. The dorky cable-knit sweater, the preppy wool peacoat . . .
The only thing missing is a sign on his chest saying, “I’m not your guy, Mac.”
So why then, when his fingers brush mine as he reclaims the milkshake, does my stomach explode in butterflies? Why am I way more curious about what Thomas has going on beneath all that buttoned-up than I was about what was beneath Kris’s too-tight henleys?
“I have a proposal,” Thomas says.
Yes. Yes, I accept, I will absolutely help you discover the joys of no-strings-attached sex . . .
“How about a truce for this weekend?” he continues. “For Jon and Collette’s sake, we try our best to overcome our rather incredible capacity for getting beneath each other’s skin.”
Huh, okay, so Thomas has slightly different thoughts about skin than the ones I was having, but overall, he brings up an excellent point. I don’t want to ruin Collette’s weekend because I’m having funny thoughts about the best man.
“Deal,” I say, extending my hand for him to shake. “From now through Sunday evening, we will be the very best of friends.”
“Well, I was thinking more along the lines of just being civil, but sure,” Thomas says, enveloping my hand in his and giving it a professional shake. “Friends.”
Neither one of us acknowledges that we hold hands for a split-second longer than friends.
CHAPTER SIXTEEN
Friday, October 7
“Oh my. So, so many penises, so little time.”
This comes from Stephanie Price, who’s perusing the bowl of penis-shaped gummies before picking up an unfortunate green, crooked one. “They don’t really look like this? Do they?”
She wiggles it at me, then eats it.
“I haven’t had to suffer through that, but . . .” I pick out a short, squatty red one. “This is unfortunately familiar to me.”
“I can’t find Ethan’s in here,” she says, poking through the bowl. “Guess that means I’ll have to acquaint myself with the real thing very soon.” She wiggles her eyebrows at me, then scans the area for her husband.
Stephanie shoots Ethan a smile that’s a little bit naughty, a little bit sweet, and I can’t help myself from following her line of sight. Ethan is gazing at her right back, both adoring and a little naughty himself, and I have no doubt he’ll be all too happy to show his wife his non-crooked member very shortly.
We’re at the afterparty, of sorts. After arriving in Vermont, Thomas and I had settled into our respective rooms. We’re on the same floor, but not adjoining.
Not that I paid close attention or anything.
Thomas may be the master planner of the weekend, and he took on all the big things: transportation, reservations, blah blah. But I took on the important things. As soon as I dropped off my bags, I headed back to the front desk, to ensure the party guests got their goodie bags:
Advil, bottled water, and lots of snacks. I’d thought about adding condoms in as well, but figured since everyone here is coupled up already, that sort of thing is their business.
The weekend’s official kickoff had been a girls-only and boys-only happy hour at the hotel lobby bar. Technically we’d all been in the same space, but at separate ends of the bar for the requisite girl talk, and the guys doing their thing, which to me sounded like a lot of sports and whisky conversation.
Dinner had been Thomas’s undertaking. He’d reserved a private dining room at a little farm-to-table restaurant with amazing reviews, and because he and I are friends for the weekend, I can admit the guy did good. Five stars does not do nearly enough justice to the spicy pumpkin sausage ravioli I’d had.