Total pages in book: 118
Estimated words: 113923 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 570(@200wpm)___ 456(@250wpm)___ 380(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 113923 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 570(@200wpm)___ 456(@250wpm)___ 380(@300wpm)
Enough, a stern voice orders. Forget about him.
I really need to do that. I’m with Preston. Thinking about Cooper isn’t good for my relationship.
I thank the driver and slide out of the car. As I rearrange my side braid, my gaze flicks toward the crumbling hotel I’d first seen over a month ago. It’s still standing. Still vacant, from the looks of it. A weird sensation flutters in my belly as I stare at the sprawling hotel, its weathered, white façade gleaming from the glow of a lone streetlight.
It takes surprising effort to tear my gaze away. Great. First my brain gets hung up on Cooper, now it’s obsessing over an abandoned hotel? I’ve got issues.
Inside the bar, I find Kate at a table at the side of the stage. She’s with three other girls, two of whom I don’t recognize. The third is Melissa. I stifle a sigh, because I hadn’t realized Melissa was coming too. I don’t have anything against her, but her gossipy nature puts me on guard.
“Hey girl,” Kate greets me.
Like her sister, she has pale hair and big, gray eyes, but their styles are completely different. Kate’s wearing a tiny blue dress that barely covers her thighs, flip-flops, and chunky bangles on both wrists. Meanwhile, Melissa’s knee-length pink dress is buttoned all the way up to the neck, and there are two massive diamonds sparkling in her earlobes.
“Hey.” I direct an awkward smile across the table. “Hey, Melissa.”
Kate introduces me to her two friends, Alisha and Sutton. We decide to order daiquiris at Melissa’s insistence, although when Kate and I head to the bar to place our order, she winks and gets us two vodka shots as well.
“Don’t tell my sister,” she says, and we sling them back with conspiratorial grins.
Back at the table, the first round of daiquiris is gone in the blink of an eye, so we quickly order more. By the third round, our conversation topics devolve from our classes and future plans to embarrassing stories and men. Kate tells us about the TA who has a massive crush on her and shows his love by stapling a dried flower on the last page of every paper she submits.
I burst out laughing. “No! He doesn’t.”
“Oh, he does. And if you think the eternal love flame he keeps burning earns me better grades, you’re wrong. He gave me a C minus on my last essay.” She looks outraged. “Screw your perfectly pressed petunia petals, Christopher. Give me the A.”
Alisha beats Kate’s story with one about a professor who accidentally emailed her an impassioned love letter that was supposed to go to his estranged wife.
“Her name was Alice so I guess he auto-filled the email with ‘Al’ and clicked my name instead.” She twirls her daiquiri straw as she giggles. “The email was a list of all the reasons she shouldn’t go through with their divorce. Basically stating his case of why he’s amazing.”
Melissa’s jaw drops. “Oh my God. What were the reasons?”
“I don’t remember them all, but the first one was … wait for it …” Alisha pauses for dramatic effect. “‘Adequate lover.’”
Our entire table hoots with laughter.
“Adequate?” Kate says through giggles. “Oh, that poor wife.”
I slurp down the rest of my drink. It occurs to me I haven’t had a proper girls’ night since high school, triggering the realization that I’ve been terrible at keeping in touch with my Spencer Hill friends. Granted, they haven’t reached out either, so I guess that says a lot about our friendship. I vow to do a better job at nurturing these college friendships.
Our conversation devolves even further, as Sutton suggests we play a game. Well, not so much a game as “let’s rate the hotness of every single guy who walks past our table.”
“Oooh, how about him?” Alisha asks in a loud whisper.
We all examine a long-haired surfer dude in a red tank top and orange board shorts. “Two out of ten for fashion sense,” Melissa says, lifting her nose. “Red and orange? Come on. Have some respect for yourself, sir.”
I can’t help but snicker. Drunk Melissa is still snooty, but she’s also cattier, which I’m loving.
“Butt? Nine out of ten,” Kate decides. “It’s a great butt.”
“I bet I could bounce a quarter off that thing,” Alisha agrees.
Yes, we’re objectifying these boys. Intoxicated girls have neither shame nor scruples.
“Seven overall,” Sutton says.
“Three,” Melissa corrects, jutting her chin. “I can’t get past the red/orange combo. I just can’t.”
“Um, guys?” hisses Alisha, who leans forward eagerly. “Six o’clock, far end of the bar—I just found a ten across the board.”
We all turn toward the bar. I nearly choke on my tongue.
Alisha’s perfect ten is Cooper Hartley.
Kate whistles softly. “Oh yeah. I like.”
“I love,” Alisha corrects, her face taking on a dreamy glow.
I don’t blame her. Cooper looks damn good tonight. He’s wearing that threadbare T-shirt I like, the one with the Billabong logo that stretches across his broad shoulders and emphasizes his defined chest. Add to that the messy dark hair, the two full-sleeve tattoos, the cargo pants hugging an ass even tauter than the surfer’s, and you’ve got one fine specimen of a man.