Total pages in book: 106
Estimated words: 99356 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 497(@200wpm)___ 397(@250wpm)___ 331(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 99356 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 497(@200wpm)___ 397(@250wpm)___ 331(@300wpm)
I shrieked and yanked a pillow up to cover my face.
There was a brief pause, then Dean’s deep chuckle. “Did I frighten you?”
“How much of a cliché can you be?” I asked through the pillow. “The old coming out in your towel trick? What is this, American Pie? Are you about to change into your JNCO jeans and go spike your frosted tips? Did you leave your chain on the bathroom sink next to your Pogs?” I was rambling, but I had to forgive my brain. It was currently being exposed to near lethal levels of sexy. Alarms were blaring. Little brain cells were smashing themselves into walls, deciding to end it all rather than face what was coming. It was pure pandemonium in my head.
He laughed. It was a genuine, heart-melting laugh that I pretended to hate. “Actually, I was thinking we should get our weirdness around each other out of the way. If we’re going to pretend to be dating, we should be comfortable. No matter the situation.”
“Oh, come on. Nobody needs me to prove I’m not going to freak out if you spontaneously rip off your shirt. And I’m absolutely not stripping in front of you. Go ahead and get that one out of your head right now.”
He didn’t say anything for about a minute, then he spoke again. “Alright, I’m decent again. You can stop hiding.”
I peeked and saw he was indeed, “decent”, if you could call it that. He’d slid into gray slacks and a white undershirt that was hardly better than when he’d been shirtless. I could see every freaking muscle under that shirt like I was reading a relief map of the US–and I had no clue how to read relief maps, but I certainly knew how to find pecs, biceps, and abs. The man even had those silly little muscles on the side of his ribs. I was pretty sure nobody knew what those were for, except hot guys, and I could see them through his shirt as he bent down to tug on a pair of socks.
“So can we talk like adults, yet?” he asked, spreading his arms.
With effort, I locked my eyes on his face. Although when it came to not dissolving into a horny, no-brained mess, his face wasn’t much of an escape. I could practically see him lifting me up in the rain while my dress clung to my body. He’d growl something romantic, like, “You had me from the moment you puked on my shoes,” and then we’d do one of those movie-ending kisses–the kind where we both tilt our heads from side to side as we kiss like we’re desperately trying to look past each other to catch a glimpse of a car crash.
Annnnd there it was. The frustrating thing about anxiety brain was that it ran on its own. I always thought if scientists could somehow figure out how to harness the brains of anxious people, they could create a perpetual energy machine and solve world hunger.
He snapped his fingers. “You there, Pearl?”
Yes, asshole. I was there, but I was also short-circuting. I certainly wasn’t going to admit that to Dean, though. I dropped my phone to the bed with a soft thump. “From where I’m sitting, the one refusing to treat this whole thing like an adult is you. You know, the one who decided to go all Magic Mike on me.”
“You’re right. That was uncalled for. I’ll humbly submit myself to payback. I can just sit here and you can teach me a lesson. Go ahead,” he sighed. The man was a strangely good actor, and it looked like he was actually expecting me to get up, strip, shower in front of him, and then come out in a towel.
“Are you crazy?” I asked.
He pursed his lips. “Is that a no? Alright, but you can’t stay mad at me if you’re not going to even take your chance at payback.”
“Look. If this is going to work, we need a plan. An actual plan. Like, I need to know what you’ve told people about me and you need to know what I’ve told people about you.”
He narrowed his eyes. “I’ve told people you’re my girlfriend? So we’re on the same page, right?”
“You mean nobody has asked you what I do for a living? What I’m like? What my favorite things are?”
“No. My brothers mentioned hooking me up with a girl they met. I said I was dating someone now, and then they dropped it. I mentioned it to the Pollards as well in conversation over dinner. Said something like, ‘I’m off the market again.’ And that was that. Why, did you say something weird about me to people?”
“Um, well.” I scratched the back of my neck, hesitating. Were men really that completely devoid of curiosity? Six months and nobody had pressed him for any details about me? Every time I mentioned Dean to people, it was like the freaking Spanish Inquisition. My dad had practically held the kitchen light in my eyes and cuffed me to the table. I think my mom was considering looking up how to water board people if it meant she’d get some info out of me. “I might’ve had to make up some things about you.”