Total pages in book: 129
Estimated words: 129110 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 646(@200wpm)___ 516(@250wpm)___ 430(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 129110 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 646(@200wpm)___ 516(@250wpm)___ 430(@300wpm)
“I’m sorry,” he effortlessly brushes his hair off his forehead, “about earlier-”
“Don’t worry about it,” I interrupt, racking my brain for something more to say, like somehow a thanks for all the music and memories, and a goodbye... but he beats me to it, and it isn't a farewell, but an opening.
“So we gonna order some grub? What do you like? Salad?” he picks the room service menu off a nearby chest of drawers and I narrow my eyes as I head towards him. I grab the laminated sheet and scan it, annoyed that he assumes I’d want a salad.
Is that his way of saying I should be on a diet - that I’m not as skinny as the girls he’s used to hanging out with?
That does not fly with new Elle.
“I’ll take a burger, well done, no onions, and extra mayo.”
I mean okay, so maybe I was sort of in the mood for a salad, but his arrogance has me needing to prove a point.
“I guess you’re not watching your figure then,” he smiles, and I flash him a look. What the actual hell? Does he have no social decency? I shake my head, suddenly self-conscious. How could I not be after a comment like that?
“Um,” I place my hand over my stomach, wondering if all guys are just assholes. This is something Travis would say, and my heart plummets. Maybe it's in their genetic makeup, like that's what the Y chromosome is.
Just another thing about Asher Montgomery that's... disappointing. He's no better than anyone else.
I look up, my gaze reflected in the mirror on the far wall. I realize my cover-up is see-through, so I can see my bikini underneath. I’m not fat, at least I didn't think I looked fat... but I’m not exactly skinny either, and I suppose I see that now. I see how I'm that awful borderline size where a bikini could either be the best or worst decision, and right now I know which way I'm leaning.
But new Elle doesn't let others tell her how she feels or looks, right?
I'm suddenly not so sure.
“Oh bugger that came out completely wrong," Asher is suddenly next to me and I turn around. "I didn’t mean it like that," he continues. "It’s just - um - most girls I’m around are watching their weight,” he runs his fingers through his hair, embarrassed. "I suppose that's just another thing I like about you. You don't pay attention to things like that."
Wrong.
I definitely care more than I should, especially when it comes to you.
"Why am I here anyway? How did you get my number?"
"I can get anything," he shrugs, and I let that process for a second. "What made you come?" Our eyes meet. "I really wasn't sure you would."
"By the third time I listened to the interview I realized you told me the truth about the nature of your relationship with Sabrina Wilson," I hesitate. "I can't imagine you're clueless. Surely you know that's what everyone is trying to get out of you... so why tell me?"
"I... had a feeling about you," he swallows hard and I do the same.
"How did you know I wouldn't leak it?"
"Did you?"
"No."
He smiles, and the air around us changes.
"Again, I'm sorry. You're not fat... you're..."
I wait for him to finish, but he doesn't.
“We can’t all date supermodels, right?” I reach into my bag and search for my wallet.
"For what it's worth they're over rated. Self-centered, shallow, fake, and-"
"So that’s what this is all about? You want to see what a regular person is like?"
"No. I meet regular people too. Most just yes me to death."
"How trivial."
"It kind of is," he intently watches as I open my wallet. "I can’t feel a damn thing for anyone because none of it is real."
I pause and hand him a twenty.
“Bloody hell, what’s this for?”
“My lunch,” I shove it his way and he smiles.
“See, like this," he nods at the bill without taking it. "No one has ever offered this before. I'm not gonna accept, but the gesture is... refreshing."
"I'm not giving it to you to be refreshing. I'm giving it to you as a form of exchange for food." I place the bill on the table and we both stare at it in silence. “So, um,” I clear my throat, “are you going to order that food or should I? You did promise me lunch."
"I'm trying something new, so sure," he lets out a low laugh before picking up the phone, and I narrow my stare, unsure of what that means, or if I'm still just some experimental side act to him.
I start to look around the room as I wait, wondering if this is where he actually is staying or if it's just where today's press junket is happening. Then my thoughts wander to his bedroom, like if it's here how far am I standing from it? What kind of suitcase does he have? Are his clothes haphazardly hanging out of it, or are they folded neatly in the draws?