Total pages in book: 98
Estimated words: 93957 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 470(@200wpm)___ 376(@250wpm)___ 313(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 93957 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 470(@200wpm)___ 376(@250wpm)___ 313(@300wpm)
“Hmm. When?”
“Next week,” Harry said.
I stared at a divot in the brick wall intently. “And when do you think we should submit our offer on the property?”
“Friday. We’ll try to get Myron to sign for McMillan before then, but we can’t wait any longer. And truthfully, it’s looking very good,” Darren enthused.
“That’s great news.”
“Agreed. Thank you for coordinating the meeting. We’re thrilled it went so well. Did you happen to mention the potential photography issue to the guitar boy?” Darren asked.
“Uh, no.”
“You might want to before the band meets with Myron. We don’t want any surprises,” he replied in a British accent.
“You’re right. I’ll, um…I’ll talk to him.”
“Excellent. Good night, Sean,” they said in unison.
I stared unseeing at my screen. The insistent buzz of a dance song reverberated beyond the door. I had a sudden desire to be somewhere quiet, but I wasn’t ready to go home. I wasn’t sure I was ready to deal with Johnny again either.
We’d cleared the air in a texting frenzy over the weekend, and I didn’t want to disturb the peace. I’d hoped a little distance would get us back in a “friend zone,” but it wasn’t working. I couldn’t stop thinking about him and wondering when the full ramifications of getting caught kissing him were going to hit. It was ridiculous that a grown man could so effortlessly mind-fuck himself, I mused, scrolling through the text thread Johnny had started Saturday afternoon.
I’m sorry.
Don’t be. It’s fine, I replied.
Fine? Fine? It was better than fine. It was fucking hot.
I sent a smile emoji. Yes, it was.
Sorry we got caught. Do they hate me?
Not at all. Penny thinks you’re my boyfriend. Parker didn’t say anything, but he’s talking to me, so I think we’re good.
Cool. I’m glad. Have fun with them. And tell Lullah hi for me.
That was it until Monday, when he’d texted to tell me that Parker had reached out to him about another guitar lesson.
That’s great, but he’s at his mom’s next weekend, I typed.
Does she live close? I can go there. Or he could come by the studio after school for an hour.
I’d frowned at my phone for a few minutes, then pressed Call. And the little fucker wouldn’t pick up. Are you ignoring me on purpose?
Yep. I don’t talk on the phone. It’s a rule.
I can’t make plans via text. It’ll take too long, I griped, adding a few annoyed-face emojis for good measure before dialing his number again. Answer your phone.
No. Quit calling me.
We went back and forth for a while, exchanging random gifs and emojis until neither of us was sure what we were discussing. At least I wasn’t. Eventually the thread petered out. I took that as a sign he’d moved on with his evening and I should do the same.
But the last text was from me. We’ll have to meet in person.
No response.
Here I was, twenty-four hours later, unsure whether I’d successfully pushed aside a potential personal entanglement. The kiss was still on my mind and the fact that Parker had contacted Johnny on his own in spite of it felt like a breakthrough of some sort. I didn’t trust myself to discuss the other facet of my business deal tactfully over text.
Fuck, this might get personal again.
Are you free tomorrow night? I typed, leaning back in my chair.
I started to flip my phone over so I wouldn’t stare at it like an obsessed teenager when it buzzed.
Yes, but I’m waiting for a delivery. I got the latest window. Want to come over?
Sure. I’ll bring pizza.
Nice!
What do you like on yours?
I’m easy. Pepperoni, sausage, mushroom, onions, jalapeños…you choose.
I gave a thumbs-up sign and stood abruptly, willing my pulse to slow. For Christ’s sake, it was pizza. Nothing to get excited about.
The following evening, I showed up on his doorstep with a ridiculously large pizza. The bag with salad, utensils, and napkins slid precariously on the box when I leaned forward to knock. I rang the bell too, thinking he might not hear over the screech of his electric guitar. The music got louder, then stopped altogether just before the door swung open.
“Yo, it’s the delivery man.” Johnny swung the door open, pushing his instrument behind his back.
“Very funny. Invite me in. This is heavier than it looks,” I huffed, breathing him in as I stepped inside. Fuck, he smelled amazing…like shampoo and peppermint with a hint of nicotine.
My dick twitched in response. Not happening, I reminded myself, setting the box on the island.
Johnny padded barefoot into the kitchen and lifted the lid. “Nice work. You even included jalapeños.”
“And salad.” I pointed to the brown paper bag.
“Thankfully not on the pizza. I have a buddy who loves arugula on his pizza. That ain’t right. Want a beer?”
“Sure. Thank you.”
Johnny smiled, brushing my arm on his way to the fridge. “Grab the plates and forks. They’re in the cupboard to the right of the sink. Do you want a bowl to mix the salad?”