Total pages in book: 135
Estimated words: 128430 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 642(@200wpm)___ 514(@250wpm)___ 428(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 128430 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 642(@200wpm)___ 514(@250wpm)___ 428(@300wpm)
Story exits the bathroom, then starts our clothes in the washer. I’m still surprised she has the space for the units. “It’s nice to have the washer and dryer.”
“Comes in handy, but it’s a total luxury.”
“I don’t have one in my apartment.”
Disbelief colors her hazel eyes when she turns back to me. “That’s a surprise. I thought most apartments came with them these days.”
Not wanting to talk about laundry in the limited time we have together, I ask, “Is it okay to use your desk?”
“Yes, I can highlight my chapters from the bed.”
I sit down and power my computer back up. “What are you studying?”
“History. I can code my way out of a prison cell, but my memory for world history is not the best. I put this class off as long as I could, and now it’s catching up with me if I want to graduate.”
Swiveling to face her as she settles on the bed, I ask, “When do you graduate?”
“Next spring if I stay on track. You?”
I nod. “Same.”
Her sweet smile renders me speechless. I hate that I put the brakes on earlier when I could be spending time admiring her. But looking around, she’s got a good thing going. She has her life together, was smart enough to drop the dead weight of Troy Hogan, has a job, and goes to school. She doesn’t need me impeding her goals.
Why does she have to make it so hard to turn away from her?
I do anyway, forcing myself to leave her be.
I’m about five minutes into my research when she says, “I forgot to offer you something to drink.”
Looking back, because yeah, I want to see her again, I say, “I’m okay.”
“Hungry?”
Starved actually. Soup and half a sandwich aren’t going to tide me over, but it’s not her job to keep me fed. “I can order from the restaurant downstairs.”
“I could eat a taco or two.” Grabbing my phone, I pull up a delivery app. We find the restaurant and order. “How much do you think they’ll hate us for ordering in this weather?” she asks.
“Don’t worry. I’ll make it worth the trip in tip.”
Her expression sours, but she doesn’t say anything. She slinks lower in the bed and returns her attention to the book, the highlighter poised in her hand and ready for battle in the chapter.
Reading women’s minds has never been my forte, so I stopped. But this feels different. I want to know what Story is thinking, what turned her expression from smiling to seemingly upset. “Did I say something wrong?”
Her eyes are the only things that move in acknowledgment. She then closes the textbook and sits up. “I work in a service capacity, and you don’t know how many times people think they can treat me how they please if they just tip.”
Rummaging through what I said to make her so defensive, I hit the line and instantly regret saying it. “I didn’t mean—”
“I know, Cooper. That’s why I didn’t say anything.” She scoots off the bed and heads into the kitchenette, which takes up a large corner of the small space. Taking out two cups from the cabinet, she continues, “Not everyone can be bought and paid for.” She fills the glasses with water from the tap.
I don’t think I’ve had tap water since . . . well, since ever. When she hands me the glass, she sits on the end of the bed across from me. Concern nor worry lies on her face. Patience comes and goes before she finally says, “It’s not worth any tip to brave the storm outside, so let’s just call it as it is—us being too lazy to pick up our order.”
“I’d need pants to go out, even if it’s just downstairs. Since I currently have none, I wasn’t saying it to offend the delivery person.”
“As I said, I know you didn’t. It just felt personal even though I know it wasn’t.”
I’d already included a hefty tip but go back into the app and double it. She crawls back onto the bed, and we let the conversation lie like a canyon between us. I’m not usually one to give in to the whims and moods of others, but I can’t concentrate on my work knowing she’s upset. I swivel back around and rest my forearms on my legs. “I’ve hurt your feelings. I’m sorry.”
This time, she gets up and comes closer. Crossing her legs in front of her on the mattress, she toys with the hem at her ankle, tugging a thread free from her pants. “Thank you, Cooper. I appreciate that.”
I don’t think she’s oversensitive about the subject, but how can I ignore the reason behind her emotions? People are assholes. And that they’re assholes to her is unacceptable.
A knock on the door rattles the wood. Jumping up, she goes to answer it. “I’ve never ordered delivery before, but that was fast.” When she opens the door, she smiles, her guard completely down, totally unaware of any potential danger.