Total pages in book: 59
Estimated words: 58600 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 293(@200wpm)___ 234(@250wpm)___ 195(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 58600 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 293(@200wpm)___ 234(@250wpm)___ 195(@300wpm)
Cleo grabs her purse, takes out a pen, then grabs a piece of paper from the middle of the table. “Who’s in?”
“Obviously not,” Lily says.
“Well, duh.” Cleo stares at me. “Come on, Tori. It’ll be fun. It’s just texting. What’s the worst that can happen?”
“What’s the best that could happen?”
“You could find a digital Prince Charming to finally break down all these emotional walls you’ve built around yourself. You could live happily ever after.”
“Now you know she’s desperate.” Lily giggles. “She’s turned into Cupid all of a sudden.”
“I know, right?” I tease. “Talk about laying it on thick.”
“Don’t make me beg,” Cleo says. “I’ll get down on my knees. Do you want to humiliate me?”
“Sort of. But fine. Why not? It’s not like I have to text them back.”
CHAPTER 4
ALEX
“Sulking is a bad look,” I tell Julian.
“I’m not sulking,” he says… while sulking.
“I didn’t know they were both going to leave,” I tell him. “I didn’t want to give her the wrong impression.”
“They were ready for a good time, and you basically told them to go to hell. And what for? So we could sit at the corner of the bar like two depressing old men and have no fun at all. Not everything has to be so serious all the time, Alex.”
“Look, if Tinker and Belle want to have a good time, they can find somebody else. I’m not interested in anything casual.”
“Or anything serious,” Julian points out. “What are you interested in, bro? Working eighteen-hour days so you don’t have to think about the rest of your life?” After a pause, he says, “I’m sorry. That was harsh. You’re right. I’m being an ass.”
“It’s fine.”
“No, it’s not. This isn’t something to fight about. Call me an ass so I can feel better about it.”
“You’re an ass. Happy now?”
“Very.” He sips his beer. “Anyway, if I am sulking—and I’m not agreeing—maybe you could help me out. Let me put your number in the bowl.”
I look over to the line of people at the stage. Two lines, men and women. The woman with the wild hair and the magnetic smile sits at a table. Does that mean she’s not putting her number in?
“Come on,” Julian says. “It’ll be fun. Some harmless texting.”
Maybe he’s right. He apologized for his dig about me making work my life, but he has a point. Perhaps I need to let go from time to time. I can’t live with a vice grip on life just because some shitty things happened to me once upon a time.
“Fine, go on. Do it. You madman.”
“Yippee!” he practically squeals.
“Christ, Julian. You didn’t just say ‘yippee.’”
“Young at heart, old buddy,” he says, chuckling as he slides from the barstool.
I sip my drink—I’m still on my first—and try not to stare at the woman. I can’t lie.
I’m curious. I think that’s the right word. And there’s this rumbling deep down, my loins stirring, excitement tickling at the edges of my usually cold consciousness.
When she laughs, it has an edge to it, an attitude.
Julian returns. “I’m getting another drink while I wait for the love of my life to text me.”
“If she doesn’t, I’m sure you’ll find one of your own.”
“Amen to that.” He laughs. “It’ll be time to collect the numbers soon… I wonder how sneaky they’re going to be with the envelopes. Think I’ll be able to spy my Juliet?”
“I’ve got everything crossed for you,” I say dryly.
I watch as a tall, fit man walks from behind the bar and approaches my stranger’s table. Julian busies himself chatting up one of the barmaids that just passed by. Is he her boyfriend? I’ve got no right to be jealous, but goddamn it, sue me. I don’t want her to have a boyfriend.
He says something to her, then she stands, walking around the bar with him. They linger at the very end. I’m no lip reader and too far away to hear what they’re saying.
Their body language is tense. The man takes a red envelope from his pocket and offers it to the woman. She shakes her head, her gorgeous waves bouncing around her shoulders. He shoves the envelope at her. She takes a step back.
Then he shoves the envelope at her again. I’m on my feet before I realize it.
“Where are you going?” Julian says as he looks my way.
I ignore him, my heart pounding as I rush past him. Who does this guy think he is? Not her boyfriend, clearly, if she won’t accept a red envelope on Valentine’s Day.
“You’re not getting the hint, buddy,” I growl as I step behind the bar.
My tone even shocks me. Protective instincts swell in me, especially when the woman turns with gratitude on her face, but then her expression becomes guarded.
“No customers behind the bar.” The man is smiling, but it doesn’t reach his eyes.