Total pages in book: 77
Estimated words: 71911 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 360(@200wpm)___ 288(@250wpm)___ 240(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 71911 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 360(@200wpm)___ 288(@250wpm)___ 240(@300wpm)
I shrugged and walked over to my dresser to get a nightgown. “I didn’t know he was living here that day. He had a meeting at the college. And, no, I didn’t see a reason to explain my phone call to him.”
“Okay, we will get back to that whole meeting Dean Finlay and not telling me bit. But for now, let’s focus on the important stuff. I see a reason to tell him about Cam. The man is into you. He’s not sure if he likes how you’re treating your boyfriend, but he’s almost to the point that he doesn’t care. He wants your hot ass. I can see it all over his face.”
I took out one of my favorite nightgowns and slipped it over my head. “You’re reading way more into this than is there. He’s Dean Finlay. He can have any woman on earth he wants. I am a college admissions assistant. There’s nothing special about me. He does not want me.”
Clara growled in frustration and stood up, throwing her hands in the air. “For the love of all that is holy! Would you listen to me when I tell you that you’re gorgeous, smart, thoughtful, kind, tough, the best mom I know, and you’ve got a fantastic personality? Why wouldn’t he want you?”
I walked over and hugged her tightly. “I love you too,” I said, then let her go. “But right now, I want to get in bed. I have work tomorrow and a date with Gavin tomorrow night. I called him right after I got off the phone with Cam. I decided I needed to date someone this summer. You’re right about that.” Because I was fantasizing about Dean Finlay, and that was a slippery slope.
“You’re going out with a cute construction worker when a hot rock star is interested in you? Seriously? Is this real life?” She seemed so deflated.
“You go out with Dean Finlay if you think he’s so great,” I told her. Even if, deep down, I didn’t necessarily mean it. Because then I’d have to hear about it, and I wasn’t sure I could do that.
“Oh, I went at it full force. I used all my skills. I thought he was just hard to get until we walked into the kitchen and I realized the man was interested—just not in me. He’d been smart enough to lock in on my hot best friend,” Clara told me.
“You’re wrong. Doesn’t matter anyway. Now, I need sleep. Go home,” I told her gently.
She sighed loudly, stood up, then turned and headed to the door. “Fine. All my dreams of being the best friend of Dean Finlay’s girlfriend are dashed. You’ve taken them from me. You should be ashamed. I am but a broken woman now. Shattered beyond repair,” she said dramatically as she walked into the hallway.
“Tomorrow is another day,” I told her. “Perhaps you can make friends with some other rock star’s girlfriend.”
I started to mention that Kiro Manning visited Dean sometimes or that he had the one time I went up to his penthouse. However, I decided that was a bad idea. She was just now soaking in that Dean lived here. I would do that another day.
“Do you have ice cream in your freezer?” she asked me.
“Yes,” I replied.
“Good. I’ll lock up when I leave. But I need ice cream to move on from this,” she said, then headed down the hallway.
I figured the ice cream would lead to her watching Netflix, too, so I went over and closed my bedroom door before crawling into bed.
Sleep didn’t come as quickly as I had hoped, but when it did, the dreams came too. Dean Finlay showed up in all of them.
Managing not to think about Dean the next day at work was easy since I’d been given the task of taking the paper files and converting them to digital. The computer crashed twice because it’d needed to be replaced five years ago. There were incomplete and missing files. My right heel broke. I started my period and had forgotten to bring a tampon, and to top it all off, it was eighty-three degrees in the filing room.
When I walked into my apartment, where the air conditioner kept the temperature at a lovely sixty-eight degrees, I dropped my bag on the floor and basked in the cool … until my eyes landed on my sofa.
No. Not my sofa, but a sofa.
Slowly, I walked around to the other side of the sofa and stared down at it. The cushions were so big and full that it appeared you could sink into it. The square armrests were wide enough to set things on, and the color was closer to a slate gray than a blue. One single yellow chenille throw pillow was in the center, brightening the piece up. I didn’t move. I just stared. It was brand-new and the nicest thing I had in this apartment. The other living room furniture looked sad in comparison.