Total pages in book: 177
Estimated words: 169272 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 846(@200wpm)___ 677(@250wpm)___ 564(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 169272 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 846(@200wpm)___ 677(@250wpm)___ 564(@300wpm)
“I have a confession to make,” Henn announces. “When I’m at my apartment or in a hotel room by myself, I’m not nearly as neat and clean as I’ve been pretending to be this week at your place.”
I sigh with relief. I don’t know what I thought Henn was about to confess to me, but that wasn’t it. “Oh no,” I say in mock horror. I point at the door. “Get the fuck out.”
“Have you noticed how careful I’ve been to use a coaster with every drink this week?”
“I have, and I’ve appreciated the effort.”
He snickers. “I don’t even own a coaster at my place.”
I gasp. “No.”
“I’m also not the best about getting my dirty clothes into the hamper. Sometimes, they live on the floor or draped over the back of a chair until laundry day on Sundays.”
“You’re going to need to be a whole lot more shocking than that to freak me out.”
“Okay, how about this? I frequently leave little hairs in my sink after shaving. Sometimes, a blob of toothpaste, too. But why clean that shit up right away, when nobody else will see it and I don’t mind?”
I lay my entwined hands on the table in front of me. “I sincerely appreciate your honesty. Thank you. Now, please, get the fuck out.” When Henn laughs, I add, “All of that falls under the umbrella of trying to make a good first impression. Like I said, it’d be a red flag if you didn’t try to do that—if you stayed at my house and acted like a total slob the whole time.”
“Uh oh. The things I’ve described make me a total slob?”
“No. A mild slob. I do the same stuff, except for the part about the sink. I can’t stand a dirty sink.”
“Get the fuck out.” Chuckling, he lays his arm on the table. “Have you done anything this week to make a good first impression?”
“I sure have. I’m normally a whole lot grumpier in the morning before my first cup of coffee than I’ve been with you. I’ve been downright cheerful when I open my eyes and see your handsome face, but that’s not typical for me.” I giggle. “Maybe that’s what I’m always like when I wake up in total and complete sexual satisfaction every morning, but I didn’t know that until I met you.”
“I’m not normally a morning person, either. But when I open my eyes and see you, I feel instantly giddy. Like the world is my oyster.”
My heart skips a beat. “That’s how I feel, too.”
As we trade giddy, smitten smiles, our waiter appears with our food. As he leaves, we dig in with gusto. As we eat, the conversation briefly shifts to our food, until I say, “Kat referred to us as Bert and Ernie today. Isn’t that cute?”
“That depends. Which one am I?”
“She didn’t say, and I don’t have a preference, so you can take your pick.”
“I’ll be Ernie, then. He’s the chill one, right?”
“So, you’re saying I’m a cone-headed, high-strung crank? Get the fuck out.”
Henn laughs. “You said you didn’t care.”
“It was a trap. Welcome to my annoying side, Peter. Careful what you wish for.”
Henn hoots with laughter. “Oh my god, I love yooo-uu-rr . . . sense of humor.”
Suddenly, the poor man is melting in front of me. He’s red-faced. His features are contorting. What the heck is happening to poor Henny?
If I had to guess, I think his brain just now cockblocked his heart, and what his heart wanted to say got stopped by The Brain Police at the border of his lips. If I’m right about that, if Henn nearly said what I think he was going to say, then I’m glad his brain took over. We’re still getting to know each other. Plus, he’s going away for weeks. In my opinion, it’s way too soon for us to take things to the next level now without first spending adequate time at this one.
“I love your sense of humor, too,” I reply with a smile. “It’s one of my favorite things about you.”
His chest heaves. “Thank you.”
I take a deep breath. “We should probably head to the karaoke bar now. It’s about a fifteen-minute walk from here.”
“Cool.” Henn signals for the check, and after paying it, he rises and offers his hand to me. “Ready to sing your ass off, Bert?”
I slide my hand in his. “Ready, Ernie. Let’s sing a duet with such dorky enthusiasm, we make all the cool kids in the bar cringe with second-hand embarrassment.”
17
HANNAH
“You’re the One That I Want.”
That’s the song Henny and I are currently belting out onstage—with aplomb, I might add—while also acting out the famous scene from Grease to a tee. At least, that’s what I’m trying to do. In reality, the adorable look of pure glee on Henn’s face as he sings and dances and basically becomes Danny Zuko is making it hard for me not to giggle my way through my lyrics. But since I’m a pro, y’all, and the show must go on, I’m doing my mighty best to overcome my giggles. Well, mostly. But only by a thread.