Total pages in book: 96
Estimated words: 88456 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 442(@200wpm)___ 354(@250wpm)___ 295(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 88456 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 442(@200wpm)___ 354(@250wpm)___ 295(@300wpm)
“That’s a shame,” the man says. “If I was younger…” I can’t help but laugh.
“You are too kind,” I say. “I’m sure you bat away the women with your charm.” I look at him and then at Nash, who looks at me with a smile.
“I wish,” he replies, looking at Nash. “You should fire this woman and then date her.”
“Now, that is a great idea!” he declares. The man smiles at me, giving me a wink, and walks away.
I wait for the man to leave and finish my glass before I get the nerve to ask him, “How many women have you brought to this event? Every single time we meet someone, they ask you if I’m the newer model.”
“One, they have not asked you that every single time.” He turns to look around. “And the answer to your question is not many.” He avoids looking at me. “Some I was dating at the time. Some I was testing the waters with.”
“So you’re a serial dater?” I laugh as a server walks around with another tray of champagne. I put my empty glass on it before taking a full one.
“Not really a serial dater.” He waits for the man to walk away before he speaks. “I just haven’t found the one who I want to spend more time with.” I stare into his eyes. “I need someone who will keep me on my toes. Someone beautiful and kind.” I take a sip of champagne, well, more like half the glass. “Someone who, I don’t know, drinks matcha.”
I about choke on my champagne when he says that before he takes me to our table for the meal. He pulls out the chair for me, and I sit down as he sits beside me. “Would you like white or red?” the server beside me asks.
“White, please,” I say to him and then look over at Nash, who shakes his head. “You aren’t a wine drinker?”
“I don’t mind wine. I’m just not feeling it,” he explains as I lift my glass of wine and take a sip.
“What do you feel like having?” The minute I ask the question, I hold up my hand. “Don’t answer that,” I say, taking another sip of wine.
He leans into me, and I swear I hold my breath when I smell him beside me and then feel his breath on my ear. “You ruin all the fun.” I turn my head, and we are so close to each other it’s making it hard to think.
Two things happen at the same time. Someone calls him away, and my purse buzzes in my lap. He pushes away from the table, walking over to the man. My phone buzzes a second time. I pull it out to see it’s from Josh.
Josh: I miss you.
Josh: When are you getting back? We need to talk.
I’m about to answer him when I see he commented on my Instagram post two hours ago when I took a picture of the fountains. I click on his picture and see he uploaded a story ten minutes ago, where he was in a club between two girls. “Asshole,” I mutter to myself and put my phone away. Yeah, he misses me, my ass. I finish the glass of champagne, turning and seeing Nash coming to me.
“What’s wrong?” he asks, and I just shake my head. “You went from happy to sad in the amount of time I left to say hello to a couple of people and come back.”
I think about lying to him and playing it off, but I’m annoyed and pissed. “Why can’t men who say they want to be in a committed relationship show they want a committed relationship instead of acting like he’s a single man?” I look at him.
“Did you not hear what I said before? I’m searching for that same thing.” He chuckles. “I’m also the last person you should ask that question to.” I take a deep inhale. “But I will say that if I perhaps had someone”—he smirks at me—“someone I’ve wanted for a really long time, there would be no question about how committed I would be.”
I listen to him say the words and feel the back of my neck burn before I laugh nervously, not sure what to say. “That would be one lucky girl.” The words are out of my mouth before I can even stop them. “We should do shots.”
He looks at me, his eyebrows going up. “This could be interesting.”
“We should take a shot every time someone says something about the girls you’ve dated. I’d be drunk for sure.” I laugh, my head feeling a little tipsy.
“What about you and the boyfriend?” he asks, and I reach for my wine. “Is the situation still the same?”
“Not my boyfriend,” I correct him before I take a sip of my wine, “per se. We are on a break.” I smile. “And not like a Rachel and Ross break, a real break.” I put my glass down. “Like you do your thing, let me do mine.”