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)
“So much. I honestly don’t know what the fuck to do with it all.” When he spies someone on the other side of the room, his cranky face makes its first appearance of the night. He’s all rock-solid jawline and cold hard eyes. “Of course that asshole had to be here.”
“Who?” I turn to survey the room. “Did you have a high school nemesis? Which one is it? What did they do?”
Connor sidesteps me and wraps an arm around my back. It’s an effective method of smooshing me against his front and rendering me immobile. “We’re not going to look at him, Riley, because if he receives any attention that dickhead will be straight over here getting in our faces and we do not want that.”
“Right. Got it. Sorry.”
“Tell me more about your writing,” he says, taking a small step back. Just enough that there’s a foot or so between us. “How did you start?”
“Um. I was always into books. Not just stories, but notebooks too. The whole idea of paper and pen and the things you could do with them was amazing. I used to pick apart my books and then cry because they were broken. But I wanted to know how they worked. At any rate, Mom got really good at gluing picture books back together. Then I got a tablet one Christmas and suddenly I could carry a library around with me. Mind blown.” I smile at the memory. “Best gift ever.”
“The way you talk about books makes me want to give them a chance. What the hell is happening to me?”
I slap him playfully on the arm, then ask, “Do you ever tell yourself stories before you go to sleep?”
“What do you mean?”
“Ever since I was little, I would lie in the dark and make up scenarios inside my head. Often involving famous people.”
“Give me an example?”
“Fine. But don’t mock me,” I say. “Something like Jensen Ackles turning up at my school in the Chevy Impala to take me to dinner. That sort of thing.”
“Supernatural fan, huh? I’m impressed you know what the car is.”
“Now you’re being condescending.”
“You still do this? Tell yourself stories?” He smiles. But not in a mean way.
“Yes. It’s a habit now. One of the reasons I have trouble getting my brain to shut up so I can go to sleep.”
“I don’t do anything like that,” he says. “Though it sounds a hell of a lot more fun than worrying about what I’ve got the next day.”
“Your dreams must be so stressful.”
He thinks about it for a moment. “Yeah. And yours must be horny.”
“Honestly, they often are. Guess I’ll be going straight to the second circle of hell when I die. That’s where all the lustful types end up apparently. I should be in good company at least.”
“So, you started writing young?”
“Yes. But I didn’t get serious and actually finish something until I was twenty. That’s when I kicked a heavy piece of furniture, broke my foot, and spent the summer working on my first full-length novel.”
“Did you mean to kick the piece of furniture?”
“No. I was at a party. Drinks were had.”
He checks out the room, smiling and nodding at various people.
“Go do your thing, Prom King,” I say with a grin. “I am fine here.”
“No rush,” he says. “You do know none of that matters?”
“None of what?”
“The prom king and captain of the football team and all that shit. It was so do-or-die at the time. But then high school ends and none of it matters. Not in the real world.” He shrugs. “A while after we graduated this guy said to me, those were the best years of my life. He meant it too. Absolutely believed I was going to agree with him. I just thought to myself, you sad fuck. We’ve got another fifty or sixty years to go and you’ve already given up.”
“People are wild.”
“Yeah.” He stops and smiles. “It’s nice that we can be judgmental together. That’s something we can do as a couple.”
“We’re not even real and we’re already the worst. Go, us.”
He laughs and the sound is kind of great. I can’t help but smile. For real this time. Then he leans closer and says, “You smell different.”
“New perfume.”
“Mm.”
“I am starting to think olfactophilia is your thing. Though that kink is about the scents emanating from the human body while you tend to notice my shampoo and stuff.”
“Huh,” he says.
I look up at him and he looks down at me and for a moment, it seems as if he might kiss me. His gaze drops to my lips and stays there. Like he’s absolutely going to kiss me regardless of me babbling about weird shit. Which would be fine and perfectly pleasant. The kissing thing, I mean. But I had a long talk with myself earlier while doing my makeup. A kiss will not get me all up in my feelings again. We’re finally in a place where the fake dating works for both of us. It’s inspiring my work and it’s freeing him from the shackles of his ex. Neither my heart nor my vagina are allowed to fuck this up.