Total pages in book: 141
Estimated words: 136559 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 683(@200wpm)___ 546(@250wpm)___ 455(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 136559 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 683(@200wpm)___ 546(@250wpm)___ 455(@300wpm)
We’re finishing up when an athletic blonde with shiny hair and a shinier ring walks past. She does a double take and turns to Everly. “Everly, how are you? It’s so good to see you!”
“Sabrina!” Everly lights up, standing to hug the woman in a cute pink sweater and distressed jeans. She’s all smiles and exudes a poised, magnetic energy that immediately draws attention. Also, her rock is as bright as a disco ball. It’s on her left hand, so she must be engaged.
Everly quickly introduces her to the table. “Everyone, this is Sabrina. She’s with Glace,” she says, mentioning the Cirque du Soleil-esque ice show that’s set up camp in San Francisco for a long stay. “And amazing, by the way. You should see her triple loop. Well, you will—she’ll be at the rink in a couple weeks doing a promo.”
Sabrina waves, her bright eyes sparkling with warmth. “It’s so nice to meet you all. And here’s hoping I can keep the crowd entertained while they wait for the boys to get back out there.”
“Our fans love the intermission entertainment,” Everly assures her, then gestures to me. “Leighton will be there too—she’s taking photos for the event.”
“Perfect!” Sabrina’s smile widens. “Can’t wait to see you then.”
We chat for a few more minutes before she heads out, her effortless confidence stirring something in me. She reminds me of how I felt more than a year ago in the studio with Miles. I wouldn’t mind getting that feeling back.
When we’re done, I’m glad to have spent this time with my friends, but I’m also ready to go.
On the bus back to Miles’s house, I’m mentally making plans for later when I see him while trying to close the loop with my mother on the handbag shoot. Last night, I finally replied to her text asking for more details, but as she sends me the dates now, I’m secretly relieved. They line up perfectly with dates for the Sea Dogs calendar’s shoots. The money would have been nice, but it’s not even an option. As we trundle past the cafés and shops on Chestnut Street I write back.
Leighton: Sorry! I can’t be in two places at once. But I appreciate the offer.
Her reply is lightning fast.
Mom: That’s disappointing! Usually you’re so good at making time for these.
Yup. Still passive aggressive. But I stand my ground as I tap out a note.
Leighton: That’s not the issue. The issue is I’m working with the Sea Dogs, and I literally have a shoot on those days.
Really, that ought to be enough to settle her down. But my phone buzzes again as the bus nears Miles’s home.
Mom: Perhaps I can convince the Sea Dogs to move the shoot? I can be very persuasive.
Why doesn’t she just move her shoot? That would make the most sense. And yet, she wants everyone to bend to her. Still, I don’t know what she might try to pull, so I try to nip that in the bud.
Leighton: Please don’t. I’ll try to make the next one.
Mom: Brilliant! Send me your schedule and I’ll work around you.
I roll my eyes—she finally gets it. But also, I don’t want to send her my schedule. That feels entirely too personal for some reason, and I don’t entirely know why. It just does. My schedule is mine. I don’t share it with others. Still, I want to treat her the way I want to be treated by her—with respect. So I reply with that in mind.
Leighton: I’ll send you some dates.
Then, I set the phone aside as I hop off the bus and head inside, eager to execute my plans for Miles.
But as I’m setting up, everything feels too…girlfriend-y. Maybe it’s because I’m alone in his house, adjusting my tripod, leaving a trail of lingerie for him to discover with geocache clues.
A bustier hanging in the closet next to his ties.
A satin nightie tucked under a pillow in the guest bedroom.
A thong slipped into a bathroom drawer.
It all sounded playful and bold in my head, but now my stomach twists, and I feel…off. Like I’m overstepping. Like I’m trying on a role that doesn’t quite fit. Miles isn’t here—he’s working out with some of the guys on their off day and grabbing a bite afterward. So it’s just me, the dogs, and all my uncertainty.
I wince, glancing around the bedroom. Boppity and Cindy sit at my feet, their cute, inquisitive stares somehow making me feel even more exposed. The queasiness settles deeper, a pit in my stomach that won’t go away. It’s not just that I’m staying a few extra days—it’s that it’s starting to feel like something more. And I don’t know what to do with that.
We’ve been sharing his space, making breakfast, getting ready together—like we’ve done this a thousand times before. We’re playing house, and I don’t know if that’s comforting or terrifying. Maybe both.