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)
Tate lifts a brow at Ripley.
“I didn’t drink it to piss her off,” Ripley tells him. “She said she couldn’t leave because she hadn’t finished her drink. I was helping expedite her departure.”
“I bet you were,” Tate says, shaking his head. “You know, I can’t decide whether I’m relieved or disappointed that the two of you haven’t turned over a new leaf. On the one hand, it would end a very entertaining era. On the other hand, I’m interested to see what that would look like.”
“Well, don’t get your hopes up,” Ripley says, peering down at me. “She’s as incorrigible as ever.”
“Oh, whatever,” I say. “He’s the one who drank my martini. I’ve just been sitting here.”
“In purple boots,” Ripley says, his brows arched to the ceiling.
I hold a leg to the side, showing off my boots … and a bit of leg. “Aren’t they cute?”
“Not really the word on the tip of my tongue,” Ripley says, his gaze a little higher than the top of my boot.
“I bet not,” Tate says, winking at me. “Where’s Sutton?”
“Hey, Tate!” she says, reaching the table with her phone in her hand. “It’s so good to see you.”
An unwelcome blush creeps up my cheeks as I place my foot back on the floor.
Ripley and I glare at each other as Sutton invites them to join us. I scoot farther to my left to keep a respectable distance between Ripley and myself, as I’m afraid I might stab him in the leg with my fork if we sit too close.
Tate stops our server and orders two martinis and a beer for himself and Ripley.
“What’s been going on with you?” Sutton asks Tate. “We haven’t seen you in forever. Jeremiah said we should invite you for dinner soon now that we’re settled in our new digs.”
“That would be great. Let me know when, and I’ll be there.”
Tate smiles kindly at Sutton, and I can’t help but wonder why Ripley can’t be more like his brother. Sweet. Charming. Human.
“I’ve been on the go for the past three weeks straight, and I’ve barely had time to catch my breath,” Tate continues. “As a matter of fact, I came here straight from the airport.” He runs a hand through his hair that’s a touch lighter than Ripley’s. “I’m ready to spend some time at home and return to a routine. I miss my bed. I miss the gym. I even kind of miss Gannon.”
Ripley chuckles.
“Speaking of the gym, did you ever run that 5K we were talking about at Jeremiah’s birthday party?” Tate asks me.
“Good memory,” I say. “But no. It turns out that I’m not a runner.”
“I could’ve told you that before you bought your first pair of trainers,” Sutton jokes.
I make a face at her, then turn to Tate. “I did start weightlifting after you told me to give it a shot. But can I ask you a question?”
Ripley rustles beside me.
“Sure,” Tate says.
“I had been doing light weights at high reps, but a trainer in the gym told me to do heavy weights at low reps,” I say. “Now I’m not sure what to do.”
“I’m an exercise physiologist, you know,” Ripley says.
“I know,” I say, giving him a smile that anyone watching would think is friendly. “Anyway, Tate, I’m the maid of honor at an upcoming wedding and want to look exceptionally hot. And since I’m not a cardio girl, I need to figure out this weightlifting thing.”
Tate’s smirk sets deep in his cheeks as he watches Ripley from the corner of his eye.
Sutton laughs, wagging a finger across the table. “Weren’t you just telling me a few minutes ago how I needed to ensure I get all the shine on my wedding day? And now you’re saying you want to look exceptionally hot?” She shakes her head. “You little hypocrite.”
“Look,” I say, trying not to giggle. “I didn’t say I wanted to outshine you. That’s not possible, even if I tried. I only want to be irresistible to the single men wandering around the reception.”
“Aren’t you still dating Donovan Templesman?” Tate asks.
I take my drink from the server and thank him. “We ended things—I ended things—a couple of months ago.”
“What happened?” Tate asks.
Ripley tips back his beer and pretends not to listen.
“Yeah,” Sutton says, fighting a grin. “What happened, Georgia?”
I take a drink, letting the warmth of the alcohol flow through my veins. A nice buzz softens the edges of my irritation and helps me relax.
“To put it simply? He let the cookies run out,” I say.
“He what?” Ripley asks, dumbfounded.
“He let the cookies run out,” I repeat. “I know it sounds bizarre and silly, but it’s important to me.”
Tate tries to understand. “You broke up with a man because he ran out of cookies? Actual cookies, right? That’s not a euphemism?”
I sigh. “Just listen. I love white chocolate and macadamia nut cookies, okay? They’re my absolute favorite—especially the soft-baked kind. And once Donovan learned that about me, he always had them in his kitchen. Always. Without fail.”