Total pages in book: 93
Estimated words: 107803 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 539(@200wpm)___ 431(@250wpm)___ 359(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 107803 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 539(@200wpm)___ 431(@250wpm)___ 359(@300wpm)
Naz.
I could call him. I mean, he put his number in my phone and told me to call him. He wouldn't do that if he didn't really want me to, right?
But what would I say? Hey, remember me, girl you picked up from the sidewalk, drunk as a skunk, high off her ass without even knowing it? You know, the one you felt obligated to take home with you because there was nowhere else to take her? Yeah, her, the one you bought breakfast for the next morning, the one who didn't offer to pay for her own because she didn’t have a penny in her pocket?
You remember her?
I'm so, so sorry if you do.
Groaning, I cut my eyes at the pot of water. There are only a few tiny bubbles on the bottom. It needs to hurry up.
My gaze goes back to the phone, back to his name. It would be rude not to call, though, wouldn't it? He helped me, after all.
Another glance at the pot. Still not boiling. Dammit.
When I turn back to my phone again, my finger hits his name. I press the call button before I can talk myself out of it, because I know I will if given the chance.
I bring the phone up to my ear and listen. The first ring seems exaggerated, like the sound echoes through my body, twisting my insides into knots. I feel like I'm going to puke and need to sit down, my eyes darting around the kitchen but the chair that's usually in here is gone.
Goddamn thieves.
I'm shaky, and edgy, and about to hang up when the line clicks, shutting off mid-ring. There's a pause of silence that feels like it drags on forever before his voice breaks through. "Hello."
Oh God, oh God, oh God… what was I thinking?
"Uh, hey… it's, uh…"
"Karissa."
My name sounds like Heaven from his lips as he says it in his rough, low tone. I want to ask him to say it again, and again, and again. "You remember."
"I do," he says. "How are you?"
"Better." A lot better than when he last saw me. "I just wanted to, you know, thank you."
"I'm glad you called. I thought maybe you lost your phone again."
"No, I still got it," I say. "For now, anyway."
He lets out a laugh, the sound making me smile, easing some of my anxiety. "Good."
"So yeah, like I said, I wanted to thank you again, for everything you did… you know, at the club, and the ride, and my phone. I appreciate it, really, and if I can ever repay you—"
"You can."
I stall at those words. "I can?"
"Yes," he confirms.
"Uh, how much?" I ask. "I don't have much money."
He laughs again, this time a little louder. "I don't want your money, Karissa. I have plenty of my own."
"Then what do you want?"
"You."
He says the lone word so confidently that I just stare straight ahead, unable to process it. "Me?"
"Let me take you to dinner," he says. "Then we'll call it even."
"I… I don't know what to say."
"Say you'll be ready in thirty minutes."
"Now?" I ask incredulously.
He wants to take me to dinner right now?
"Why not?" he asks. "No better time than the present."
I can name plenty of times better than now… times that don't include me wearing Oscar the Grouch pajama pants and fuzzy pink slippers, my hair a scraggly ball on top of my head. "I don't know."
"I'll tell you what," he says. "In half an hour, I'm going to pull up at the entrance to the parking garage, right where I dropped you off. If you're there, I'll take you wherever you want to go. If you're not, I'll go on my way."
Before I can respond, the line goes dead, my phone beeping. Call ended. I stand there, hesitating, contemplating, before turning around. Once again I don't give myself a chance to talk myself out of it. I switch the stove off, leaving the pot of freshly boiling water on the burner as I bolt from the kitchen and sprint to the room.
Thirty minutes. That's all I have.
I tear through my closet, throwing clothes around as I search for something to wear, pulling shirts off hangers and holding them up in front of the mirror before tossing them aside. I blast through everything I own, demolishing my side of the room in less than five minutes, putting Melody's mess to shame.
I move from my closet to Melody's, taking a deep breath before diving in. Her clothes are trendier than mine, more revealing… more her and hell of a lot less me. I shift through what's hanging up before scouring through her drawers, changing a few times before settling on a black long-sleeve sweater dress I fish out of the back of the closet.
It'll have to do, because I'm down to fifteen minutes. I let my hair down, running my fingers through it. It's wavy from being up all day, but there isn't anything I can do to straighten it. I swipe lip gloss across my lips and put on a coat of mascara, barely having time to spritz myself with perfume before slipping on my boots.
Sitting on the bed, I glance at the clock and tense. Time is up already.
I practically sprint out, taking the elevator downstairs and jogging outside, breathing heavily by the time I round the corner to the parking garage. My footsteps falter, and I pause when my eyes come into contact with the sleek black Mercedes idling there.
Something inside of me soars, the butterflies taking flight, like they'd just discovered their wings for the first time. My feet move again as the driver's side door opens and Naz steps out. He's wearing another suit, all black with a blood red tie, my eyes drawn to the pop of color on his broad chest.
Naz strolls to the passenger side, opening the door for me.
The stories got it right, I see.
Prince Charming has manners.
I offer him a smile, trying to get myself under control as I slip into the seat, taking a deep breath when he walks around to get back in. He hesitates, his hand on the gearshift, as his gaze sweeps along me. I can feel my body flush from the attention and curse my lack of makeup… I know my nervousness is written all over my face.