Total pages in book: 73
Estimated words: 71768 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 359(@200wpm)___ 287(@250wpm)___ 239(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 71768 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 359(@200wpm)___ 287(@250wpm)___ 239(@300wpm)
I laughed and gave him a little shove. “You know what I meant.”
Some of the tension left his shoulders as he stopped walking next to me and hung his head. “I don’t know what sane man would see you as just a friend.” He cursed under his breath. “You’re like a fucking hurricane—a chaotic beautiful mess of waves and wind, powerful, daunting, and any guy—especially ones like Banks—would risk his life during the storm just to see if he can survive it.”
I sucked in a sharp breath. Had he just said what I thought he’d said? Goose bumps rose all over my body as I waited for him to say more. Instead he squeezed his eyes shut, and I knew stress had sent him over the edge, he’d meant to keep the words in his head but had blurted them out instead. His body language had gone from smooth, arrogant, confident, to suddenly panicked as he licked his lips, bit down, then shoved a hand in his pocket only to pull it out.
“I’m confused.” I nudged him again. “Am I killing him, or is he just getting rained on?” I asked with a laugh.
Rip smirked and turned to me. “I wouldn’t mind if you killed him.”
I shoved him lightly. “Be mature.”
“I’m always mature, that’s probably the problem. See, Banks is the type of guy that goes into a grocery store and probably thinks, You know what would be fun? A produce aisle race. I’m the type of guy who goes into the grocery store and says, ‘Oh, look, beef’s on sale.’”
I burst out laughing. “Are you calling yourself boring?”
“I’m calling myself reliable. And maybe sometimes boring, too mature for my own good… Monica always—” He stopped himself, closed his eyes for a moment, then took a deep breath and opened them again. “Monica always knew what to do to get me out of my shell, and now it just feels like things are closing in even more.” He sighed. “And shit, I did not mean to just dump all of my emotions onto you like that. I’m sorry, let’s just get the food and go. I’m fine, everything’s fine, it’s been a long day and even longer night with one of my best friends watching you eat popcorn instead of the movie for two and a half painful hours.”
“Was it really that awful?” I asked.
“If awful means there was a moment I nearly lost all sanity and control and smacked the popcorn out of your hands, then yeah, it was that awful.”
“Are we having a moment here?” I teased. We were literally flirting in the middle of the produce section, and it felt more like a date than the movie had. “You know, where you’re opening up and actually talking about your feelings… insecurities, that sort of thing?”
“Do not”—he pointed a finger at me—“get used to it.”
His eyes flickered to my mouth again before he jerked his head away. “We should probably”—he gulped—“find… things.”
Insecure Rip might be my new favorite. He’d started walking away when I grabbed him by the arm.
“Wait!” He stopped, and I jerked my hand away. “You know, now that you mention it… a little race might be fun. But you know what would be more fun?” I was either going to crash and burn or this would be another moment when I could get him out of his shell—the way Monica used to.
I could have sworn I heard her laugh, felt her warm smile, and wondered if there wasn’t one more reason they’d decided to leave the kids to both of us.
One very important reason.
“Oh God.” Rip looked heavenward. “I gave you ideas, didn’t I?”
“Answer the question.” I grinned triumphantly.
“What?” He shoved his hands into his pockets like he was bored, but the corners of his lips twitched with a slight smile. “What would be more fun?”
“A game.”
“What kind of game?” He sounded about as enthusiastic as someone going in for a root canal.
“One where you have to find three of the most awkward items they sell at a grocery store—and put them in the cart.”
“Wait, so we have to actually purchase said items?” he asked, his eyes slightly widening.
“Yup!”
“Are we in high school?” He rolled his eyes.
“Hey, you’re the one who said Monica got you out of your shell—there was a reason I was her best friend.”
“Oh, and why’s that?”
“Because,” I whispered. Here went nothing. “I got her out of hers.”
He jerked his head up. His eyes locked on mine, and I could practically feel the tension leave his body. “I don’t know. We have to get Viera in a bit and check in on Ben, magically make good-tasting cupcakes out of air and water…”
“Rip.” I put my hand on his shoulder and squeezed. “Live a little.”
I didn’t finish my thought.
I wanted to say, Live a little—because they no longer can.