Total pages in book: 94
Estimated words: 86068 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 430(@200wpm)___ 344(@250wpm)___ 287(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 86068 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 430(@200wpm)___ 344(@250wpm)___ 287(@300wpm)
I move to the grill with the food, opening the top and starting it. I think about aborting this whole mission to eat my steak on the grill and just pan-frying it at this point. Her eyes are on me, and when I look up, she smirks. “What’s with the smirk?” I ask her without wanting to.
“Just trying to figure out if it’s me you don’t like or small talk.” She picks up her glass of wine and brings it to her lips. Her hair is tied on the top of her head in some sort of bun.
“I don’t even know you,” I tell her, cleaning the grill off. “So I can’t not like you.”
“So it’s the small talk you don’t like?” She puts her glass down on the table and I want to tell her that I don’t want to do any sort of talking, small or big. All I want to do is cook my steak, go inside, and then not talk to her for the rest of the night. I want to wallow in my own misery.
“Small talk is fine,” I grumble out, trying not to be the biggest asshole in the world, but hoping she catches the tune.
“You have a nice boat,” she compliments and all I do is nod at her. “I like the front part.”
“Thanks,” I respond, as I look over and see that Beatrice has her two front paws on the side of the boat and she’s almost leaning over to her boat. “What did I say?” I mumble quietly to Beatrice, who just looks at me and blatantly ignores me.
“Oh, I got you something,” she says, jumping up out of her seat, making Beatrice bark again because now she’s excited because the woman is clapping her hands together. Beatrice jumps off the side of the boat and turns in a circle around me. “Let me get it.” She turns around and I make the mistake of watching her walk away and she’s wearing yoga pants. The type that molds onto your body and you see everything, they should be illegal. Who designed these pants?
“You are in so much trouble,” I hiss at Beatrice. “What did we talk about before?” She looks at me and steps back and then looks over to the boat where Vivienne now steps back out.
She has two white boxes in her hand. “I got you this,” she says, walking over to the side of the boat. Beatrice beats me to the side and pushes her snout out to smell what Vivienne has in her hand. “Don’t you worry, pretty girl,” she assures Beatrice, with a smile on her face so big that her eyes get a touch lighter, “I got you something, too, because I like you the most.” She looks at Beatrice and then at me. I can’t even stop my feet from moving toward her. I walk over to the side of the boat as she holds out the big white box. My hands move to take the box from her. “It’s dessert. Sort of a ‘hi, neighbor’ kind of thing,” she tells me and I just stare at her and then the box.
“Isn’t it the other way around?” I ask her. “Wasn’t I supposed to get you a ‘welcome to the neighborhood’ thing?”
“Well, I wasn’t holding my breath.” She smiles at me and I can tell it’s the fakest smile I’ve ever seen. It’s more of a fuck-off smile than anything else, definitely much different than the look she is giving Beatrice. “Can I give her a c-o-o-k-i-e?” She spells out the word, looking at Beatrice.
Beatrice barks at her to answer her question. “She knows how to spell,” I tell her, holding the white box in my hand.
“I take it that is a yes?” she asks me, and I notice how green her eyes are. I nod at her and she ignores me and looks back at Beatrice. “Does the prettiest girl in the whole world want a treat?” she asks her, sitting on the side of the boat and I’m tempted to tell her she could fall in, but not my monkey, not my circus, I remind myself.
“I’m going to put this inside,” I inform her and look at Beatrice. “You can go and see her but you come right back,” I tell her and Beatrice looks at me. “Go,” I say with my head and she walks over and jumps onto the dock.
In a matter of seconds, she’s on the other boat. “I got you something special,” is the last thing I hear from her before I open the door and walk into the galley.
Walking over to the counter, I put the white box on the counter. “Why the fuck would she get me anything? I’m not going to eat this,” I state, more annoyed than anything. One, she called me on being an asshole, and two, she still got me something. I open the box and see she got me my fucking favourite, apple fucking pie with crumbles. “Motherfucker,” I grit between clenched teeth.