Total pages in book: 88
Estimated words: 87275 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 436(@200wpm)___ 349(@250wpm)___ 291(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 87275 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 436(@200wpm)___ 349(@250wpm)___ 291(@300wpm)
Lord, help me through this.
He has the wherewithal to act impressed with me as I approach him. “You must be Georgia.”
I smile at him like I didn’t loosely plot his demise last night. “I am. And you must be Ripley.”
“It’s a pleasure to finally meet you.”
Oh, please. I bite my lip to keep from laughing as he presses an almost kiss to my cheek.
“I like this quiet version of you,” he whispers, his breath brushing the shell of my ear before pulling away.
My body betrays me as goose bumps spread across my skin. It’s the first time since the Senior Mixer that we’ve had contact without the threat of pain, and I wasn’t prepared. If he notices, he doesn’t make it known.
Ripley pulls my chair out for me. “You look beautiful tonight.”
“Thank you,” I say as I sit, wondering how badly that pained him. “Are you always this charming?”
He pushes my chair a smidgen closer to the table than necessary. “Always.”
I stifle a laugh. Sure, you are.
“I think we should address the elephant in the room right from the beginning,” he says, taking his seat.
My lips part to fire back a snarky response, but I quickly remember there are cameras.
“What would that be?” I ask.
“What do you search online the most often? Because I’m dying to know how we were matched.”
My laughter is loud and immediate.
“I’m serious,” he says, laughing, too. “Give me your top three. If we can find the overlap, it will give us a natural starting point.”
My top three searched terms? Conspiracy theories, random medical ailments I have no business looking up, and deep dives into the backstories of strangers I encounter online.
If I say those things, it’ll give him ammunition somehow to use against me later. But more importantly, I know our overlap doesn’t exist because this is all for show. That doesn’t mean I can’t use it to learn a little about Mr. Brewer, though.
“Cleaning hacks, meal prep tips … and porn,” I say instead, watching his features closely for a reaction.
His eyes widen. “Porn?”
“Yup. That must be where we overlap.”
The grin kissing his lips is one that I haven’t seen before—not directed at me, anyway. It’s suggestive in the dirtiest of ways. Butterflies flutter in my stomach as if they didn’t get the memo that we don’t react to Ripley … or that he’s acting and trying to make the audience believe he finds me attractive.
“I feel like I should say that porn is one of mine because that would be quite the overlap,” he says, chuckling. “But it’s not.”
“Well, it’s not mine either. I might as well admit that since they’ll probably show you the list at some point.” Except, you know as well as I do that there is no list.
His brows lift in confusion. “What?”
“I was just trying to learn something about you.” I shrug. “I don’t look up porn. Well, it’s not in my top three searches, anyway.”
He tilts his head to the side, clearly amused, as the server steps to our table. After a quick introduction, Vernon takes our drink order and hands us menus before leaving us alone.
“So porn is out,” he says, grinning cheekily. “Should we move on to meal prep?”
“My meal prep consists of making sure I have enough string cheese and cookie butter to get me through the week.”
“Did you give up cookies?”
I laugh. “Never.”
“I’m guessing you don’t clean either.”
“What would give you that idea?” I drop my attention to the menu and my eyes about bug out of my head. “Whoa.”
“What’s wrong?”
“Nothing,” I say, bringing my gaze to his. “I’ve just never eaten at a restaurant where one meal will be easily over one hundred dollars. Seems rather excessive.”
“It’s a little fancier than string cheese and cookie butter, huh?”
I laugh. “A bit.”
Vernon returns with our drinks. “Are you ready to place your order, or do you need more time?”
I stare at the dinner options, none of which include cookie butter, and start to panic. The steaks have a location beneath them, which I don’t understand. I’m fairly certain one of the appetizers is a whale and I’m not sure of the legality of that. There are duck tacos, which I didn’t know was a thing, and so many variations of butter you can order on the side that I don’t know where to start.
Where are the bacon cheeseburgers?
My palms begin to sweat.
“Would you like me to order for you?” Ripley asks softly.
My smile is wobbly as relief washes over me. Ordering food I’m not familiar with and food that’s this expensive makes me self-conscious. I want to do it myself, but the longer I fumble with this decision, the goofier I’m going to look. That would be worse than letting him have this small victory by looking like a gentleman.
Surely, he’ll choose something I like, right?