Total pages in book: 83
Estimated words: 78152 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 391(@200wpm)___ 313(@250wpm)___ 261(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 78152 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 391(@200wpm)___ 313(@250wpm)___ 261(@300wpm)
“Yeah? Cool.”
“I snapped one of you being pummeled too,” I told him.
“Very nice, Charlie,” he said sarcastically.
“Hey, you were flying through the air like Superman. It’ll be a great picture,” I said with a snicker. Then I turned on my side and settled in for a night rehashing the last game of the season and listening to Scott’s voice and laughter.
“ARE you excited for tonight?” I asked Scott, trying to sound upbeat.
I was glad he was focusing on his shirt as he was buttoning it because if he had been looking at my face, he would have been able to read me well enough to know I wasn’t at all happy about his plans for the that night. It was senior prom and Scott had a date.
I’d been lucky up to that point—Scott wasn’t much of a dater. It was funny, actually, how oblivious he was. I’d always tease him when yet another girl would try to get his attention and he’d totally miss it. One time, and I swear this is true, he offered a cheerleader a tissue to help wipe whatever was in her eye. The girl had been twirling her hair and batting her eyelashes, and he implied she had some sort of medical condition. I’m damn proud of the fact that I managed to hold in my laughter until she was out of earshot.
Anyway, I was no longer laughing, because my Scott was going to be getting all touchy-feely with Melinda. Not that there was anything wrong with Melinda. And not that Scott knew I thought of him as mine. Mostly because I still hadn’t gathered the courage to tell him. But regardless, I hated the idea of him going on a date.
“I don’t understand these stupid tuxedos,” Scott grumbled into the mirror. He had gotten his shirt buttoned up and tucked in and now he was fiddling with his cummerbund. “What is this thing? Is it like a belt? Why do I need a belt?”
I was sprawled across his bed, lying on my back and propped up on my elbows as I watched him. “What on earth are you doing?” I asked.
“I’m tying this belt thing,” he grumbled as he wrapped the cummerbund around his waist and tied it on the side like a sash.
“What are you, a pirate?” I said with a laugh. I got up and walked over to him. “Why are you doing it like that?”
He shot his hands up in the air in defeat, the black fabric dangling from his fingers.
“How am I supposed to tie it?”
“Here.” I swiped the cummerbund from his hand. “Let me do it.” I shook it out and then held it up straight in front of him. “See, this part goes in the front and the clasps go in the back.” I pressed it against his belly and wrapped my arms around him to close it.
Scott was much bigger than me, so for my arms to reach around him, I had to stand really close. I had been so amused by his helplessness with the tuxedo it took me way longer than it normally would have to realize I was pressing my body against his and I could feel his rapid breath on my head, my face so close to his body that his scent surrounded me. I moved my lower torso back, not wanting him to feel my reaction to being so close to him. My hands started shaking and I was having trouble fiddling with the clasp.
“You got it?” Scott asked, his voice sounding huskier than usual this close up.
“Uh, yeah, almost,” I answered breathlessly. “I think this would be easier if I was behind you.” I took his big hand in mine and pressed it against his belly. “Hold this in place.” I stepped behind him and took in a deep, calming breath, then lifted the fabric and connected the clasps. “There you go,” I said as I stepped a bit to the side and flattened the pleats while we both looked at him in the mirror. “You look amazing.”
I had my right hand on his lower back and my left on his belly, flattening the cummerbund. He covered my hand with his larger one, stopping my movement. I raised my gaze, and our eyes met in the mirror.
“Yeah?” he asked. “You think I look good?”
I wanted to tell him he always looked good. I wanted to say “good” was an understatement. To me, Scott Boone was gorgeous, whether in wrinkled pajama pants or cutoff jeans or a fancy tuxedo. His sparkling hazel eyes, his dirty-blond hair, his golden skin, his broad frame, all of those things did it for me in a big way. So big, in fact, it was a wonder he hadn’t yet picked up on my feelings for him.
Scott could read me so well, it was only a matter of time before he realized my reaction to him wasn’t exactly buddy-buddy. It would be better if I told him, I realized, but not then, not right before he was leaving for prom, not until I had a little more time to figure out the right words.