Total pages in book: 77
Estimated words: 72027 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 360(@200wpm)___ 288(@250wpm)___ 240(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 72027 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 360(@200wpm)___ 288(@250wpm)___ 240(@300wpm)
There’s a lot of bare skin showing and I don’t want to give Mr. Spears the wrong idea, so I grab my cream twill jacket to cover my shoulders. It’s stylish and fitted at the waist. For the finishing touch, I add a sheer pink lip gloss. Good enough.
As I grab the door handle to exit my room, I hear a text coming in on my phone. It’s probably Maggie. I glance at the screen and lean against the door, my heart fluttering. Barclay.
Not happy about your date.
Holy crap. Not only did he answer me back, he told me how he felt. I smile because I worried he didn’t care, but he must, or he wouldn’t be unhappy.
I feel all bouncy inside with nerves and indecision, but my date with Trevor isn’t a real date like he probably thinks. It’s just what Maggie told me to say. This time, I’ll use my own words and no games. I don’t know how to play them anyway.
Just drinks and I’m ending it early.
The text bubbling ripples a few seconds, and I wait for his reply.
Why?
He’s not you.
No he’s not.
I wish he were …
Me too.
I don’t know how to respond, so I wait a couple minutes for him to continue and fill in the blanks behind his comment, but nothing comes. I take a deep breath and exhale the disappointment. It’s time to make my way down to the hotel bar.
I arrive in the lobby at the exact time I told Mr. Spears I’d meet him. If he was early, I didn’t want to spend a moment more than I had to with him. It’s going to feel like an eternity until Maggie calls with some concocted catastrophe requiring me to leave anyway.
I check my phone one last time as I stop at the restaurant entrance off the lobby. Nothing shows up from Barclay. He doesn’t like the idea of me with anyone, but doesn’t make any attempt to be with me either. Does he realize these back and forth moods of his are tearing up my emotions? Now I know why people call these unrequited feelings a crush.
Another sigh leaves my lips as I peek into the restaurant and see Mr. Spears leaning against the bar. He’s dressed in jeans and a long-sleeved gray shirt, and carries himself in a polished style. If I saw him like this from afar for the first time, I’d have rated him a solid nine on the hot, older guy scale. Problem is, I’ve heard him speak in veiled sexual references while his unwelcomed eyes touched me all over.
I take a deep breath and place one foot in front of the other. It’s time to get this night under way.
19
Tessa
A Cheshire cat grin spreads across Mr. Spears’ face as he spots me moving toward him. He pushes off the edge of the bar, standing tall, and licks his lips as he scans over my body. Again.
“You made it.” He reaches out for my hand, but I stick mine inside my front pocket. I don’t want to encourage touching tonight. Trying to recover from my rejection, he drops his arm and pulls out the stool next to him. “Have a seat.”
“Thanks, Mr. Spears,” I say as I sit on the stool.
“Please, call me Trevor. Mr. Spears is what people call my father, and besides, you don’t work for me.” He slides next to me and wraps his arm around the back of my stool. I move forward on my seat as far as possible, cringing as he scoots his chair closer to mine. The creep is creeping.
“You need a drink,” he declares, signaling to the busy bartender.
“Okay, but just one.” I’d love a shot or two to get my nerves under control, but can’t risk getting too buzzed. I need to keep full command of my senses.
The bartender from two nights ago moves in front of me. “Hey, I remember you,” he says with a friendly smile, then turns to Trevor and narrows his eyes. It appears the friendly bartender isn’t a big fan of my drink date either. “Are you here with Spears?”
“Just for a drink,” I add quickly, and swear the bartender appears relieved.
“Prosecco?” the bartender asks.
“Yes, please,” I reply. The bartender turns and grabs a champagne glass, then heads to a cooler.
“He knows you, and so does Barclay,” Trevor says, rubbing his chin. “Interesting. I still don’t understand why you left with Barclay in his town car, not to mention while barely dressed.”
“I was just helping him for the afternoon,” I say.
“I bet you helped him,” Trevor jeers his voice full of sarcasm. “Anyway, you’re here now and Barclay isn’t. I’d say I’m the winner tonight.”
“Your drink.” The bartender places a glass of bubbling liquid in front of me. “On your tab, Spears?”
Trevor nods and returns his eyes back to me. “Let’s have a toast.” He picks up his highball glass, and I do the same with my champagne flute.