Total pages in book: 76
Estimated words: 73762 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 369(@200wpm)___ 295(@250wpm)___ 246(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 73762 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 369(@200wpm)___ 295(@250wpm)___ 246(@300wpm)
Not that I can ever imagine Sabrina freaking out about anything, but then, she doesn’t know the debacle that is my home life. A glittery, white-fence facade hiding a rotten core.
“Dinner. This weekend,” she pushes.
“I’ll come to dinner,” I agree, knowing I’m past due for a visit. “But I’m not bringing Sabrina.”
She huffs. “Matthew.”
“Mother.”
“Think about it?”
I hear a knock at the door, and I look up in relief when I see Ian standing there, eyebrows lifted in question. I gesture him in.
“Mom, I gotta go. I have a meeting.”
“Okay, honey. I’ll see you next week with Sabrina. I love you!”
“I’ll see you next week. No Sabrina. Love you, too.” I hang up to end the debate and toss the phone on my desk.
“No Sabrina where?” Ian asks.
“My mother heard we’re ‘dating’ and wants me to bring her to dinner.”
Ian snorts. “Now that, I’d love to see. Sabrina playing your doting girlfriend at your perfect parents’ house.”
I look away, a little stab of guilt kicking in that I hide the truth about my parents even from my best friends.
“How’s the Sabrina thing been going?” Ian asks.
I run a hand over my face. “I’m exhausted.”
“It’s only been two days.”
“Yeah, well . . . let’s just say if being her fake boyfriend is this exhausting, I pity the guy who will take on the role for real someday.”
Pity and hate.
“Not happening,” Ian says emphatically.
I drop my hand. “No?”
Ian shrugs. “Sabrina’s more relationship averse than you.”
Huh. Interesting. Interesting that Sabrina’s never mentioned her unique thoughts on marriage to her best friend.
Still, it’s not my place to spill her secrets. Plus, honestly? A tiny part of me is thrilled that I know something about her that Ian doesn’t. The two of them have always been thick as thieves.
“She is a bit cynical about romance,” I say evasively. “But she’s never said why.”
Ian gives me a look. “Yeah, I’m not walking into that one. If she wants you to know what makes her tick, she’ll tell you herself. And don’t scowl at me. You know I’d protect your privacy just as much if she asked me about you.”
“Does she?”
Ian laughs. “Really? Here. Distract yourself with this.” He shoves forward a fancily wrapped gift that’s just been placed on my desk.
“What is it?” I ask.
“A present.”
“I see that. Why is it on my desk?”
“What’s wrong with you? I think the words you’re looking for are ‘thank you.’”
“I’m not going to say thank you until I know what it is and what it’s for.”
I start to reach for it, but Ian shakes his head and drops into the chair opposite me. “Actually no, not yet. Have to wait for Kennedy.”
“Dude. Why are you being weird?” I ask, noticing he has another matching gift in his hand. Had I not been so distracted with my mother’s call about Sabrina, I’d have noticed them before. In my defense, the packages are small.
“For the record, none of this was my idea,” he mutters, looking uncharacteristically embarrassed.
A moment later, Kennedy ambles in, most of his attention on his cell phone. He sets it aside as he sits next to Ian. “What’s up?”
“Ian brought us presents,” I say.
“It’s not my birthday,” Kennedy says. “Nor is it yours.”
“Thank God we waited for him,” I say to Ian. “How else would we ever keep track of everyone’s birthdays?”
Kennedy reaches out and pulls the gift from Ian’s hand. Sniffs it.
Ian rubs his forehead. “Oh my God, what are you doing?”
“I was just making sure it wasn’t incense,” Kennedy says.
Ian gives him an incredulous look. “Why would I be buying you incense?”
“Last gift I got was sandalwood incense.”
“You need new friends,” I tell him.
“It was a housewarming gift from my mother.”
“You ever use it?” Ian asks curiously.
“Sure. It’s right next to my collection of scented candles and face creams.” Kennedy holds up the sleek gift. “Now stop stalling.”
Ian sighs. “Okay, well, it’s like I told Matt—this wasn’t my idea, and . . . Shit. You know what, just open them. Get it over with.”
Kennedy and I exchange curious glances as we untie the silver ribbon and tear open the black paper.
“Now, see, this is already much better than incense,” Kennedy says, sounding a bit more cheerful than before as he opens the box.
“Agreed,” I say, pulling the metal hip flask out of my box. “Dude, did you fill it?”
Ian nods. “Vodka for you, scotch for Kennedy. That much, at least, was my idea.”
“Explain.”
Ian blows out a breath. He scratches his ear.
I narrow my eyes. “You’re stalling again.”
“Yeah, well, give me a break; I’ve never done this before,” he mutters, shifting in his chair.
Kennedy unscrews the top of his flask and extends it to Ian. “Here. This’ll help.”
Ian laughs. “I’m more of a gin guy, but . . . sure, what the hell.”
He takes a sip, then hands the flask back to Kennedy. Meanwhile, I’m turning my own flask over, trying to figure out what sort of metal it’s made out of, when I notice the inscription.