Total pages in book: 93
Estimated words: 90475 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 452(@200wpm)___ 362(@250wpm)___ 302(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 90475 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 452(@200wpm)___ 362(@250wpm)___ 302(@300wpm)
“Me too. I think I’m just used to it by now,” I say with a shrug.
But what doesn’t make me sad is getting to spend this little extra bit of time with Chase in a Target on a Thursday morning, especially when he says, “But I like to think I understand you.”
My heart speeds up, beating at a rapid clip as I meet his gaze. “I think you do too,” I say, then I whisper, “And I like it.”
“Me too,” he says, and we lock eyes for several heady seconds till he adds, “Dying to kiss you.”
“Same,” I say.
He leans in slightly but then pulls back. “Dammit. If Ryker can’t kiss you in the store, I can’t either,” he says.
What is he doing to my heart? His loyalty to his friend is too appealing.
Once we’re out in the car and away from crowds in a quiet part of the parking lot, he presses a kiss to my lips that I wish could last longer.
I wish so many things could last longer.
But still, I’m acutely aware that our time is running out. It feels like the middle of a vacation when the calendar inexorably flips. You pass the midway mark, and you just wish you could make the hours go on and on and on.
But you can’t. Vacations always end. Just like this unconventional arrangement will in a few more days, no matter how hard my heart beats around my men.
Dorothy makes a wiggling gesture with her fingers. “Come to mama,” she says to the pot of chips on the table in the community games room. We’re at the condos where she lives just over the Golden Gate Bridge, and she’s decimating Ryker and me in poker.
Ryker huffs. “I bet this deck is weighted or something.”
“Or perhaps you’re just not as good as I am,” she says, matter-of-factly, sliding the chips next to her.
“I’ve won before. A few times,” he says, all grumbly and Ryker-y.
“You cling to that, why don’t you?” She winks at me as she shuffles the cards.
“You can’t be good at everything, Ryker,” I tease, jumping on the pile-on-Ryker train.
“I’m very good at cards,” he says, insistent.
“Pfft,” Dorothy says. “The universe doesn’t give out gifts that freely to everyone. You’ve got to take your pick. Sports or games.”
“She’s right,” I weigh in, totally on Grandma’s side.
Dorothy shoots me a wise smile, her eyes crinkling at the corner. “Listen to your girlfriend. She knows what she’s talking about.”
Ryker’s lips part, and I swear the correction is forming on his tongue. He’s about to say I’m not his girlfriend. And really, I should say the same too. But I feel kind of like a jerk saying that. Or maybe I enjoy the sound of the word girlfriend too much.
“She’s a friend,” he says evenly, but perhaps like it costs him something.
Dorothy rolls her eyes. “You can call her a friend, but I can tell the truth.”
“Grandma…”
“You’re not fooling me,” she chides, and I hide a smile.
“Grandma,” he says again.
“Seriously? How many times are you going to Grandma me? You’ve spent this entire card game making eyes at her.”
My stomach swoops. I dip my face, trying to hide my laughter, or maybe it’s my hope. This silly hope that’ll never see the light of day that I could be both their girlfriends. But that’s crazy. That’s not the real world.
“I already told you,” he says, but it’s a pointless argument.
She’s decided. “I don’t care what you told me. I can see with my eyes. I can feel it,” she says, tapping her chest. “Now, let’s play another round.”
She deals and when I take out my phone and snap another shot for his social media feed, I don’t feel like his friend either.
I feel like I belong to both of these guys. The trouble is I don’t know what to do about all these new feelings that don’t have a home in the real world.
Ryker drives me back to Chase’s place a little later. “Thanks again for coming. And the pics. And…being so cool with Grandma,” he says as he crests Divisadero.
“Of course. I love her already.”
“Pretty sure she feels the same about you,” he says.
As he drives, I glance over at his hands on the wheel, then my eyes travel up his arm, checking out his ink once more.
He told me to ask him about them in bed, and I never did. But now seems as good a time as any. “So, why compasses? Is it for travel? Adventure? Something else?”
At the light at the top of the hill, he shoots me a smile that says my question was inevitable. “It’s a reminder that if I get lost, I can find my way back.”
“To what?”
“To wherever I’m supposed to be,” he says, then holds my gaze for a long, weighty beat.
My heart flips for him, like it did for his best friend earlier today. And since we’re in his car with tinted windows and the light is still red, I say to him what Chase said to me at the store. “Dying to kiss you.”