Total pages in book: 59
Estimated words: 56887 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 284(@200wpm)___ 228(@250wpm)___ 190(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 56887 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 284(@200wpm)___ 228(@250wpm)___ 190(@300wpm)
“We’d need a script. I’d never know what to say,” I argued, biting the inside of my cheek.
“Let’s go with prompts instead. Get this…” Simon sprang to his feet and opened his hands like a movie director on set. “If it’s my turn, I’d text you the day before we meet with your lines. Two lines, max. In fact, we’ll make it a rule. I’ll give you a character and an opening sentence.”
“Simon…”
“Here we go…the message is, ‘Strangers. Hi, my name is Al. Can I buy you a drink?’ ”
My lips twitched in reluctant amusement. “That’s three lines. And am I Al? I don’t see myself as an Al. Do you? And what about costumes?”
Simon clapped in that decisive way sporty types did when they were excited about something. Against my better judgment, I was mesmerized. I stared at his masculine forearms for a beat, jolting to my senses when he spoke.
“Yes, you would be Al. It doesn’t matter if you connect with the name, but if you feel strongly about it, you can suggest something else. Of course, I get final say when it’s my turn, and it’ll be the same for you when it’s your turn. As for a costume, go for it. But what would you wear to get coffee with a stranger?”
“A fedora? What about eras? What if we set our meeting in different time periods?” I hummed and rubbed my hands together. “Gangsters from the thirties or cowboys from the Wild West or—”
“Let’s keep it simple and stick with present time. Want to try it out now?”
“Now?” I repeated.
“Yeah. Text me a character and a line. C’mon. I dare you,” he cajoled playfully.
“We don’t have a defined purpose, though. What’s the objective?”
“To just…relax.”
Wow. That sounded too good to be true.
And this might not come as a surprise, but…I thrived under pressure—particularly in situations with strict guidelines. Simon’s ridiculous suggestion was the equivalent of the scavenger hunts my grandparents had sent me on as a kid where I had ten minutes to uncover five clues that led to something silly like a pack of gum or a dollar bill. The prize was never the point. It was all about the adventure.
My friends and I did things like this too. We’d dressed up in black capes for George’s birthday last summer and dubbed it Nosferatu Night. Okay, maybe that wasn’t the same thing, but making a game out of our meetings might actually ease my anxiety.
It was worth a shot, anyway.
I pulled my cell from my pocket and regarded him thoughtfully before typing a message. He widened his eyes comically when his phone buzzed a moment later.
“Excuse me, I need to check this message,” he said, waving his phone meaningfully, then glanced at the screen and rolled his eyes. “Really?”
“Why not?”
He sighed. “Fine. What’s my name?”
“You can make up your own.”
Simon jumped up to knock on the door. He chuckled when I pretend-opened it like a game-show model opening Door Number Two.
“Hi, I’m Rod Rocknut. I’m filming a porn down the street. We’re looking for a few extras. Wanna come?”
I busted up laughing. And I couldn’t stop. I fell onto the mattress, wiping tears from the corner of my eyes.
“Rocknut? Ha!”
Simon sat beside me, patiently waiting for my bout of hysteria to subside.
“You’re ruining this,” he admonished without heat.
“I’m sorry.” I cleared my throat and tried again. “Now what? This is your game.”
“You’re supposed to feed off my last line. I asked you if you want to come…” He winced, then gave me a dirty look when I snickered like a teenager. “Okay, that’s awkward. Let’s take adult entertainers off the list of characters. I’ll be a plumber instead.”
“Is your name still Rod?”
“Yeah. Last name is Pipewell,” he deadpanned.
This time we both lost it. I laughed so hard it felt like I’d pulled a stomach muscle. Simon chuckled, pushing my arm to dislodge my hands from my face. I shoved him aside with one hand. He captured it easily and held my wrist above my head.
“What are you doing?” I rasped, breathing heavily.
“I’m trying to make sure you’re okay.”
I furrowed my brow as I let my gaze travel from his eyes to his mouth and back again. “You should probably move. I feel a very strong urge to kiss you right now, and the fact that I said that out loud is precisely why this may be a problem, Simon.”
He cocked his head. “My name is Rod and you are…?”
Oh.
Okay.
I licked my lips, glancing sideways at the stack of research books piled high on the floor. “Oscar.”
“Nice to meet you, Oscar,” he replied, lifting his brow mischievously. “I’m here to check your pipes.”
Reality check. I knew he was joking. I’d done my “jock” homework and had observed that many of them used crude repartee to defuse awkward exchanges. I knew Simon’s use of sophomoric humor was no doubt intended as a playful device to remind us both this was an exercise in the absurd. But the idea alone was an incredible turn-on. It was sweet but sexy and a little dirty and—