Total pages in book: 129
Estimated words: 124005 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 620(@200wpm)___ 496(@250wpm)___ 413(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 124005 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 620(@200wpm)___ 496(@250wpm)___ 413(@300wpm)
“Your self-love is unreal. Are you always your own first priority?”
“Your favorite color is royal blue, but you wear the lighter shades to support the team. You usually only drink club soda when we’re out so you can keep an eye on everyone.” I take a breath. “And your favorite band is The Hip, and it has been since you were a kid.” The Hip, otherwise known as The Tragically Hip, is a Canadian band that is well loved, especially where we grew up.
Hemi blinks at me, her face a mask of confusion. “How do you know all this stuff? Why do you know all this stuff about me?”
I scramble for a reason that doesn’t make me look like a complete creeper. I tap my temple. “My brother got the doctor brain, but I got the random-facts-that-are-good-for-dates gene.”
Her phone buzzes inside her pocket; she fishes it out and exhales angrily through her nostrils. “Not today, Satan.”
“Is everything okay?” I ask, stupidly. Clearly things aren’t okay. I’ve accidentally forced Wills into being my girlfriend. As if she didn’t already hate me enough.
“I have shit that needs to be managed, and I’m about five seconds away from strangling you, so it would be in your best interest to leave my office.”
“Right. Okay. But we should iron out the details of this”—I motion between us—“over dinner.”
She blinks at me.
“We can talk about it later.” I’ll make a reservation somewhere nice. I leave her office and am beyond relieved to find the hall empty. My phone has been vibrating against the head of my dick for at least half an hour. The fallout from this will be something else.
I duck into one of the empty conference rooms and drop into a chair. I remember scrolling through the pictures last night but not posting one. Although I did wake up on the couch this morning with a wicked headache and a bottle of scotch that was significantly emptier than I’d anticipated. It made my morning visit to the retirement village to crochet with The Crafty Crew less enjoyable than usual.
I open my messages and find I have more than a hundred new ones. My teammate group chat has been particularly active. I ignore it for now.
I have a single new message from Ash.
Ash
*wtf bro GIF*
I leave it for now. I’m sure he has no less than a million questions.
I also have a ton of messages from my family.
Granny Bright
Why didn’t you mention your girlfriend when you were here this morning? Why am I finding out about the love of your life on social media? Is she the reason you needed a peach pattern? Isn’t this the woman who comes with you when you help with the church bazaar? She’s a real spitfire. I knew there was something there. Love, Granny
She ends all messages like they’re letters.
Dallas
Sorry, Granny. I’ll pop by with an update and some cheesecake as soon as I can.
Granny Bright
Bring her along when you do. Love, Granny
Dallas
I’ll do my best.
I doubt Willy will be enthusiastic about a visit to my granny, no matter how much she likes her. I move on to the next message, from my brother Ferris.
Fire Bro
Dude. You have some explaining to do. Last time I spoke to you, Hemi still hated your guts and now you’re dating?
My oldest brother, Manning, has also messaged.
Doctor Bro
Is this a publicity stunt?
I also have a message from my younger sister, Paris.
Lil Sis
This is suspect AF.
I have many messages from my mom.
Mom
Dallas Mattias Bright, you better call me the second you get this message.
Why am I finding out about your girlfriend over social media?
Why aren’t you answering your messages?
Granny Bright called me this morning. She’s upset too. Especially since you were just there and one of the gossipy ladies had the info first.
Your dad and I would like an explanation.
We’re happy for you, but this is not how I wanted to find out.
You need to call me. All the women in my church group are asking questions, and I’m unable to answer them.
I have a single message from my dad.
Dad
Your mom is already planning your wedding. She’s also annoyed. Next time maybe tell her you’ve got a girlfriend before you go telling the whole world. I’m charging the flowers I bought to appease her to your credit card. You’re welcome.
“Fuck.” I run a hand through my hair.
I hit the call button, and my mom picks up on the first ring.
“Dallas, finally. Why am I finding out that you have a girlfriend through your social media? I’m excited about this, but I’m very hurt to be learning this at the same time as two and a half million other people—which is impressive, by the way. Your following just keeps growing.” She layers in a compliment with her ire, it’s her way.
“Thanks, Mom, and I’m sorry.”
“You better be sorry. This is a big deal. You haven’t brought home a girlfriend, or introduced us to anyone, or posted about anyone in years. Years, Dallas! How long have you been seeing each other? How long have you been hiding this from your family? From your own mother?” She tsks me.