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)
His eyes scan me, settling on the rip as I point it out to him. "Didn't mean to ruin your dress."
"My roommate's dress, technically," I say, running my fingers through my hair, pulling myself together. "I borrowed it from her closet."
"Ah, well, I'll make it up to her."
"How?"
He shrugs a shoulder, pushing away from the doorway to stroll closer. "Somehow."
Stepping past me, he heads to his closet. It's filled with clothes, a lot more than just black suits, but unsurprisingly that's what he grabs. I watch him, mesmerized by the ease in which he pulls himself together.
Much to my amusement, his hair dries quickly, lying perfectly without him even needing to touch it. Lucky bastard.
He turns to me as he finishes, fiddling with his dark tie, securing the knot. "Why are you wearing your roommate's dress, anyway?"
I glance down at it. "Because it looks good."
"It does," he says, "but what's wrong with your clothes?"
"Nothing, but you were taking me out to dinner, so I needed something to wear for that."
"You don't own anything you can eat in?"
"Nothing I can eat a twelve hundred dollar meal in."
He nods, grabbing his suit coat from the hanger. "But you didn't know I was taking you somewhere like that."
"Maybe I did... maybe I'm good at reading people, too."
"You didn't." He smirks as he shakes his head, as if reacting to a joke only he's in on. He lets out a chuckle, the sound making me feel like maybe I'm the punch line of it. "And you're terrible at reading people, Karissa. Terrible."
He puts on his coat, buttoning it, before turning to me again.
"You look beautiful in it, though," he says. "I'm glad you wore it."
"I, uh... thanks." Anarchy reigns inside of me as I swallow thickly. He called me beautiful. I suddenly feel like a young girl, blushing at the compliment. "I just wanted to look nice."
"Why?"
Why? What kind of a question is that?
The words 'because of dinner' are on the tip of my tongue, but they don't taste right. They have the tang of a bitter lie, only slightly seasoned to hide what's beneath. It wasn't dinner I wanted to look nice for.
It was him.
I don't respond, but from the look on his face, it's obvious he knows the answer.
Is there anything this man doesn't know?
He steps toward me, reaching out and gently rubbing my bicep. "Well, like I said, you look beautiful. Pity it's ruined, but I'll replace it."
"You don't have to do that," I say. "I don't even know where she got it, or how long she's had it… or if she even remembers she owns it, honestly."
He struts past, not acknowledging my rebuttal, as he heads for the door. "Come on, I'll take you home now. I'm due in the city soon."
He walks out, leaving me standing there. I slip on my boots, glancing around to make sure I haven't forgotten anything, before heading after him. He already has his keys, the front door hanging wide open with him standing there, waiting.
The drive into Manhattan is awkward. I want to jump out of my own skin. I don't know what to say, or what to think, or what to do about any of this, and he's giving me no indication of where his mind is.
What are we even doing here?
This man bulldozed his way into my world, razing everything I always thought, or felt, or believed, leaving me with wreckage to try to piece back together. It's like I stepped out into the sunlight for the first time, and he is driving me right back into the shadows.
Am I ever going to feel the sunshine again?
I don't want it to be over, but the question remains: what the hell is it?
"Are you okay?" Naz asks when he pulls onto the street leading to my dorm.
"I'm fine," I respond, forcing a smile. "Why?"
"You look upset."
"No, I'm just… thinking."
"Huh."
He says nothing else. Huh. That's it.
What the fuck is 'huh' supposed to mean?
My stomach is in knots when he passes my building and once again pulls into the entrance of the parking garage. I'm reaching for the door before we even come to a complete stop, figuring it's best to just be put out of my misery, when he reaches over and grabs ahold of my wrist. It's not painful, but his grip is firm, locking me there.
"What did I say about thinking so much?"
I stare at him. Less thinking, more feeling. "I know, but I can't help it. I just… I don't know what to think."
Because that makes sense, Karissa.
"Then don't," he says. "Don't think about it. Just enjoy it for what it is."
"What is it?"
He shrugs.
That's it.
He shrugs.
His grip loosens even more, his fingers slipping from my skin as he pulls away, the hand coming to rest on the gearshift again.
I take that as my cue to leave.
Opening the door, I climb out, slamming it behind me. I take a few steps away from the car when I hear the window rolling down, his voice calling out. "Karissa."
My footsteps falter as I close my eyes. He's just fucking with me at this point. He has to be. I turn around, knowing damn well I haven't forgotten my phone this time, considering I hadn't even remembered to bring the damn thing. "Yeah?"
"Dinner tonight?" he asks.
I stare at him. "What?"
"Dinner," he says. “Eight thirty good for you?"
My eyes widen as I say it again. "What?"
Amusement touches his lips, but he doesn't respond, instead putting the car in reverse and backing away. I watch as the car disappears in traffic, dumbfounded.
Is this man serious?
My mother left half a dozen messages overnight. I call her back, not wanting her to worry, only vaguely listening as she babbles about the flower shop. I hang up as quickly as I can without upsetting her and toss my phone down, glancing at the clock.
It's barely noon.
That means I have eight and a half hours to agonize, to convince myself this is real, that it isn't a figment of my imagination.