Total pages in book: 103
Estimated words: 98345 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 492(@200wpm)___ 393(@250wpm)___ 328(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 98345 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 492(@200wpm)___ 393(@250wpm)___ 328(@300wpm)
He rears back like the declaration alarms him. Likely, he’s never encountered anyone in my position. His friends likely have multiple homes. Their only issue? Deciding which one to stay in. Saint-Tropez for the summer? No, we absolutely must go to Saint Barts.
“Don’t worry,” I say, tacking on an easygoing smile. “I’m not destitute. No sleeping in my car or anything. I’ve been hotel hopping and all that. Just . . . I’m currently between places, and all my stuff is in storage. And actually, it’s not the worst thing ever. I’m just trying to figure out where I go from here, careerwise, lifewise. Don’t let it depress you. I only brought it up to say that it can be a little isolating. Anyway, you asked if I was always so difficult, and the answer is no, plain and simple. You bring out this side of me.”
“A privilege,” he teases.
I look away and smile as we slip through the streets of Old Town. We’ll be back at the dock in a few minutes.
I think I’ve managed to mostly gloss over the most personal details, throwing in enough fluff to distract him from the actual issues at hand (i.e., the fact that I have no tether, no one in my life who loves me—yeesh, it’s sad to say it like that), but still, when I glance back, I see him looking at me with an indiscernible expression that almost makes me shiver. It’s like he’s trying to look for something I’m not willing to give. It’s almost unsettling. Provocative at the very least.
“I told you, it’s really not that bad.”
Maybe I shouldn’t have said anything at all.
With a frown, he asks, “Where will you go after these ten days at sea?”
“Back to New York, I guess . . . though now that you’re bringing it up, I’m not absolutely sure. Most everyone works remotely at Bon Voyage. I could stay in a shitty hotel anywhere, I suppose.”
I smile at the idea. It’s tempting, for sure.
“There’s no family to tie you to the area? No relationship?”
“Neither.”
“I’m sorry to hear that.”
“About the relationship? Who cares. About my family? Yes, well, that’s the straw I pulled, so there’s no sense in dwelling on it. Are you going to get me to this medic or not?”
We pull up to the dock, and he turns off the golf cart. Before I can reach for my bag, he has it in hand. He looks over at me and waits until I finally meet his gaze. Oh dear . . .
“If you’re in dire straits—”
“I’m not,” I say with a heavy eye roll. “I’m merely young and wild and free. Stop feeling sorry for me.”
“I’m not.”
“You’re looking at me like I’m a poor orphan you found living under some freeway overpass.”
He flinches and reconfigures his features, wiping the pity away and replacing it with a void of indifference.
“Let’s go.” With that, he starts striding down the dock, still holding my bag.
“You don’t have to stomp off like that.” I hurry after him, wincing over my stinging calf. “I’m not as tall as you are—I can’t keep that pace even if I break into a run. Are you in that much of a hurry to be rid of me?”
He slows down. “So this hotel thing—”
This again?
“You really can’t drop it, can you?” I shake my head before muttering under my breath, “I never should have told you.”
“Where were you before?”
“A house. My grandmother’s house. She died. There, you’ve found my deepest, darkest wound. Feel better?”
“No. When did she die?”
“None of your business,” I say with an icy tone.
I try and yank my bag away from him to prove my point—that I don’t need him for anything, not even to carry my stuff—but he doesn’t let go. In fact, he holds it up out of reach like we’re in grade school. Though he was definitely not tall enough to do this back then. The nerve.
“And why don’t you just get an apartment?”
“I don’t want one,” I say bluntly. In the following silence, I realize he’s forcefully unveiled a little nugget of truth.
I’ve been looking at apartments in White Plains for the last two weeks, and there were some decent contenders, but I managed to find fault with every single one of them. One apartment complex didn’t have any vacancies for another month. Another one only had apartments on the fourth floor with a dingy view. Yet another had so little natural light the whole place felt like a dungeon. Even the last one I looked at, what should have been the Goldilocks apartment, left me wanting more. It was a cute one-bedroom, slightly under budget, in a good neighborhood with a park view. I couldn’t find a single fault, and yet when the leasing agent asked if I wanted to proceed, I said no, flat out. I looked online the next day to find it was no longer available. Relief was the only thing I felt.