Total pages in book: 121
Estimated words: 116362 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 582(@200wpm)___ 465(@250wpm)___ 388(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 116362 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 582(@200wpm)___ 465(@250wpm)___ 388(@300wpm)
“That’s going to suck,” I tell him, knowing how close they are. The way that Blake acts around Kevin, talks about Kevin, is one of the sweetest things I’ve seen. I know girls get all soft in the uterus when they see a man with a baby or a puppy, but this is kind of the same thing. He’s a good older brother and it makes me realize the depths he has inside him, the ability to really love.
“Tell me about it,” he says. “You know I never had a brother growing up, and even though I’m so much older than Kevin, that’s who I see him as. And when he told you I’m his best friend? That’s not a lie. I’m the closet friend he has. I worry for both of us if he has to move.” He gives me a pleading look. “That’s why this LARPing thing is so important. You sure you’ll come?”
“When is it again? I’d come even if I wasn’t officially your girlfriend.”
“Next Sunday.”
“That works. Just remember, you are dressing up as Loki.”
He glares at me. “Fine. If you dress up for me.”
“Fine.” I pause, not sure what I’m agreeing to. “As what?”
He taps his fingers against his lips in mock thought. “Hmmm, I better choose wisely, this might be a once in a lifetime experience.”
“Don’t you dare say Princess Leia in the gold bikini.”
“Awwww,” he groans loudly in disappointment.
“I’m not wearing a bikini to a glorified renaissance faire slash comic con battle.”
“But your body is amazing. And you didn’t mind showing it off when I was pounding you on the balcony.” He jerks his head to the glass door.
“No,” I tell him.
“Okay. Fine.” He ponders over it. “Jean Grey. As Phoenix. The spandex suit. And you better wear your fucking hair down, Rapunzel.”
“Deal.”
He sighs, looking at his phone. “I better go get the car back from the winery.” He gets up, stretching his arms above his head, and my eyes go to the hard planes of his hips, the slice of washboard abs.
“You sure you don’t want me to come?” I ask.
“Stay here and rest,” he says. “I’ll be right back.”
He heads for the door.
“Blake,” I call after him, my heart thudding in my ears.
He pauses with the door open and glances at me over his shoulder.
I fucking love you.
“Thanks,” I tell him. “For taking care of me.”
He breaks into an easy grin. “Of course. You’re my girl.”
His girl.
His girl who is brutally afraid to hand him her heart.
He leaves and I let out the longest breath, collapsing back into the couch. I lie there for a moment, almost being lulled into sleep, when my phone beeps.
I reach for my iPhone and hold it above my face.
It’s a text from Sarah.
Is it true what they’re saying? Is this really you?
And then there’s an Amazon link.
Oh my god.
Everything in me freezes, ice cold.
I click the link, hoping, hoping, hoping…
It takes me right to the Amazon page for Falling for the Secret Male Stripper.
Holy fuck.
HOLY FUCK.
NOOOOOOOOOO!
The phone drops right on my face, clocking me right in the nose.
“Arrrgh!’ I cry out in pain. I sit straight up, my head spinning, everything spinning, and fuck my life, is that blood coming out of my nose? I wipe my finger underneath and stare at the red smear.
But that’s the least of my worries. I frantically try and open the phone and text Sarah, my fingers shaking as I try and type.
What are you talking about? Where did you hear that?
I see the three dots flashing. They disappear.
Then come back.
Then disappear.
“For fuck’s sake, write what you were going to say!” I scream at the phone, shaking it.
Finally: Blake told Georgia and Alan. He said you were really successful now and you wrote together. I just wanted to let you know it’s cool. I just bought both your books. I had no idea you were that slutty lol.
I stare at the screen, dumbfounded.
He told them.
He told them our secret.
He’s going to ruin my life.
I text her back: Please don’t tell anyone. That was supposed to be a secret.
Again with the flashing dots.
Then: I’m sorry, I think everyone knows. It’s all over Facebook.
“WHAT?!” I scream out loud and instinctively toss my phone across the room.
I cover my face with my hands and rock back and forth on the couch, trying to breathe.
It’s on Facebook.
My parents are on Facebook.
Maybe there’s still time, I think to myself. Delete every tagged post!
I bring out the laptop and go on Facebook.
It’s everywhere.
Some posts are genuinely trying to be helpful: “Hey I went to school with this girl and now she’s a successful author, check it out.” Others are mocking: “Dude, who knew Amanda Newland was such a pervert?” And some are just straight up posting on my page: “Is this true? Is this you?”
I immediately start untagging my name from the posts, praying my parents aren’t still friends with anyone from my high school, but it’s too late.