Total pages in book: 68
Estimated words: 64887 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 324(@200wpm)___ 260(@250wpm)___ 216(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 64887 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 324(@200wpm)___ 260(@250wpm)___ 216(@300wpm)
“Interesting,” I say, even though what he’s telling me isn’t all that interesting. Or maybe it is, but I’m too wrapped up in thoughts of Selena to give him a fair shake. When Selena and I said goodbye, should I have tried harder to get her to commit to a date with me, or did I do the right thing by being respectful of her stated boundaries, as promised? In the moment, I thought I was doing the right thing, but now I’m not sure if I made it clear enough how enthusiastically I want to see her again.
“Here you go,” the waitress says, appearing with our food.
“Thanks,” I say, as she puts my order in front of me. When she leaves, I grab my phone off the table. “If I can’t send Selena flowers, then I should send her a quick little text, letting her know how much fun I had—"
“No, Grayson. Put the phone down.”
“Just a little note to—”
“No. Trust me. Let her come to you.”
“Too late. I sent it.”
“What?” Max blurts. “No!”
I shrug. “There’s no point in me pretending to be someone I’m not. Yes, I promised not to bombard her with texts, but if I didn’t send one little text today to say I had a blast with her this weekend and want to see her again, she’d wonder if I got murdered or hit by a bus.”
“Grayson.”
“It’s okay. She knows I’m a total dork, Max. If I follow your advice and act like you would in this situation, I wouldn’t be the guy she wanted to spend the night with, in the first place.”
He makes a face that concedes I’ve got a point. “So, what’d you say in your text?”
I hand my phone to him, and he cringes sharply when he reads my message.
“What the fuck is pulchritudinous?”
“It means beautiful.”
“She’s not gonna know that!”
“Actually, she will, because I called her that several times this weekend.”
Max grimaces with disgust. “You’re such a fucking weirdo, Grayson.”
“You’re not wrong. Lucky for me, however, Selena apparently likes weirdos. At least, this weirdo. Because it was only after I called her a ‘perfectly pulchritudinous goddess’ that she invited me to stay with her a second night.”
Max snorts.
“Plus, not to make you feel bad or anything, but I seem to recall you hitting on Selena, pretty hard, before I got to our table at Captain’s. And yet, she wanted to leave with a weirdo like me. Go figure.”
Max chuckles. “Touché. In my defense, though, you had a pretty big head start with her.”
“That’s true.”
“Either way, I’d bet anything that dorky text won’t move the needle with her, especially not this soon. Even if she wants to see you again, I’m betting she’ll wait a few days to respond, if only to teach you the art of patience.”
As Max is finishing his sentence, my phone pings. And when I look down, I contort my lips, trying to keep from smiling.
“You’d bet anything?” I ask. “What do you want to bet?”
“No.”
I waggle my eyebrows. “It seems Selena really likes dorky weirdos. Or at least, this one.”
“What did she say?”
I can’t keep my smile at bay a moment longer. “She wants to know if I’m available to meet her at the hotel again . . . tonight!”
7
SELENA
It’s Sunday afternoon, and I’m sitting at my kitchen table, sipping a cup of herbal tea, while my beloved fur baby, Daisy, sleeps at my feet. Every muscle in my body is sore from this weekend’s delicious fuckery with Grayson, my cheeks hurt from smiling and laughing so much, and my throat feels slightly raw from all those screams of ecstasy. Even if my brain knows it’s for the best to put Grayson firmly in my rearview mirror and consider him nothing but a happy memory, my body won’t stop reminding me of the incredible fun we had together this weekend.
If I hadn’t known Drew would be returning home from his father’s house at three today, I’m positive I would have thrown logic and caution to the wind and suggested Grayson and I spend yet another night together in that hotel room. But, alas, I did know it. So, I did the responsible thing. I kissed him goodbye, told him I’d had a fantastic weekend with him, and remained non-committal about any future plans. I figured I’d come to my senses and regain control of my raging hormones and fluttering heart, once I got home and back into the swing of my real life. I figured a little time apart from Grayson would harden my resolve not to lead him on. But in reality, this time away from Grayson has only made me ache to see that cutie again, as soon as possible.
I pick my phone up . . . but quickly put it back down. What would be the point in sending Grayson a text? The man is twenty-five and looks even younger than that. We’d look ridiculous together, out on a date! I think I look damned good for thirty-eight, but, still, I’m clearly much older than him. And I certainly don’t want to be a hypocrite! How many times have I roasted Andre to my friends about him being a Peter Pan who never dates women his own age?