Total pages in book: 75
Estimated words: 72362 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 362(@200wpm)___ 289(@250wpm)___ 241(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 72362 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 362(@200wpm)___ 289(@250wpm)___ 241(@300wpm)
“No,” he says again. And he sounds so convinced.
“Dude, you were sprawled out on top of me. How much proof do you need?” I climb off the other side of the bed and make for the bathroom. “Besides which, I require space to sleep. Touching while unconscious isn’t really my thing.”
“But you were asleep, and we were touching.”
“Hmm.” I close the bathroom door, see to the necessities, and wash my hands. Then I brush my teeth because morning breath. He’s stretching his back, standing beside the bed, when I reappear with a new toothbrush in hand. “For you.”
“Thanks.”
“Do you have a history of cuddling? Is this something you tend to do?”
“It’s really not,” he says again with an even heavier frown this time.
“How about with she who shall not be named?”
He shakes his head.
“Sex friends?”
“I don’t spend the night.”
“You only sleep over when you’re in a relationship, fake or otherwise?”
“Yeah. Are you going to get dressed?” He looks me over and says almost to himself, “Even your toenails are blue.”
“It’s called Malibu. Isn’t it great?”
“It’s very blue,” he says, like that isn’t exactly what’s brilliant about it. “That another place you’re interested in? Malibu?”
I shrug. “Don’t know. Probably not quite the vibe I am after.”
No comment from him. “How long does it usually take you to get ready?”
“Not long.”
“Hmm.” His stomach grumbles loud and proud. “Can you give me an estimate?”
“No.”
“Five minutes? Ten? Fifteen?”
“It takes as long as it takes, Connor. Are you always this annoying in the morning?”
He thinks it over and nods. “Pretty much.”
“Did you used to pretend not to be?”
“Tried to. But pulling off the mister nice bullshit before nine is hard work.”
“I bet it is,” I say with a smile. “Go make yourself a coffee and work on losing the frown. You can’t walk into the café with that look on your face. People will think I am bad in bed.”
“God forbid,” he grumbles. “We can’t have that.”
The man’s lucky he’s so pretty. Honestly.
The café is busy. We managed to get a table in the corner as an older couple were leaving. One of the women winked at us while the other smirked. Word has spread of our semi-obscene behavior at the party last night. Which was absolutely to be expected. But I have come prepared. I’m wearing a floaty white midi dress with shoestring straps. The color of innocence. And I’m doing my best to appear sweet as can be. So saccharine it hurts. Though I doubt anyone is convinced. The dress was one of those sale purchases that made sense at the time. Such a bargain. Seventy percent off. Then too late you recall you can’t be trusted not to spill crap on yourself, and it was a total waste of money. As proven by the coffee-colored spot on my skirt.
“Want some?” asks Connor, loading up his fork again.
“No, thank you.” I wrinkle my nose. “Never really thought of oysters as being breakfast food.”
“You don’t know what you’re missing.”
He is downing a plateful of eggs scrambled with oysters, bacon, green onion, and cheese at an alarming rate. The look he gives my cinnamon bun French toast is similarly unkind. “I never understood people preferring sweet over savory at this hour.”
“But pancakes,” I say. “Waffles.”
“Are both great with eggs and bacon.”
“No maple syrup?”
He shakes his head. “No.”
“Wow. How does it feel to go through life being wrong all the time? Is it a burden?”
“I sleep just fine, as you’re well aware.”
I smile at him, and he smiles at me, and everything is great. So great. Just me and my new friend having breakfast together. I sit back in my chair and relax. Guess I am adjusting to being a public spectacle. People giving us side eyes and whispering comments in our direction. Or it’s just too early in the day to care. Connor’s car remains parked on the street outside and he’s wearing last night’s clothing. No way have the town gossips missed such salient details. Our imaginary sex life is safely established. Job well done.
Shanti and a barista are working their butts off behind the counter. Occasional noises drift out from the kitchen. My love affair with Port Stewart is deepening every day. Despite the weirdness of the last week, I feel at home here. Today the sky is an endless blue with no trace of last night’s storm. My stomach is full and my mood is chill and the music they’re playing is perfect. Jung Kook is always a good choice.
“If you could only have one, which would you choose?” asks Connor, nodding in the general direction of the dueling tip jars on the counter. “Coffee or beer?”
“I feel like life without coffee would hurt more.”
“But summer without beer,” he says, sounding mildly horrified.
I shrug. “In all honesty, cider works just as well for me. I don’t think I’d miss it that much.”