Total pages in book: 101
Estimated words: 103102 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 516(@200wpm)___ 412(@250wpm)___ 344(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 103102 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 516(@200wpm)___ 412(@250wpm)___ 344(@300wpm)
“Grandma.” I don’t want to get into this. I won’t get into this.
“Okay,” she says. “Are you going to tell me about the date?”
“It wasn’t a date.”
“But you were with Lexi?”
“No. Deanna.”
“Deanna Huntington?” she asks.
“Do you know another?”
“The brunette who lives next door?” She can’t help but be incredulous.
“It wasn’t a date,” I say.
“You spent the night with her, but it wasn’t a date?”
“A few hours is not spending the night. But it’s a long story.” And I’m way too tired for this conversation. Maybe still buzzed a little, too.
“You like her,” she says.
“Based on what?”
“The way you said her name.”
“No.” I shake my head. “I know you don’t approve of my feelings for Lexi. You never have.”
“They’re not feelings. They’re—”
“I’m not having this conversation.” Not again. “I’m not here for Lexi or Deanna. I’m here for you.”
Her expression gets stern. “You promised.” There are a million implications. You promised not to put your life on hold. You promised not to linger in this pain. You promised to stay away from here until you grew into a man who was over his teenage crush.
She’s right.
I’m not ready to be here. But now that I am? I’m not leaving for anything, either.
Chapter Thirteen
Deanna
The warm water of the shower washes away the remnants of the day. I let memories of negotiations and sisters who suddenly covet the boy next door drift to the back of my mind.
Kinda.
I try, okay? I’m not great at the whole not obsessing thing. More doing everything I can to reach my goals. But sleep is an important part of goals. And I won’t sleep well if my mind is racing.
My skincare routine and silk pajamas help me slip into rest mode. Then I step into the living room and see Lexi sitting at the kitchen table, and I lose my tiny hint of calm.
“Deanna.” She taps her heel against the hardwood floor. She’s still in her party outfit (a new pink dress and one of Jake’s blazers, which really doesn’t say I want to break up with you). Even though it doesn’t fit our fluorescent kitchen, she looks completely where she belongs. She always does.
“Alexandria.” I copy her tone. “Is there an urgent matter to discuss?”
“How much did you drink?”
I hold up three fingers.
“Are you drunk?”
“Am I not allowed?”
“No.” She sits back with a smile. “I’m surprised. Impressed, actually. I didn’t think you’d let loose during pitch season.”
We’re always in pitch season, but then I never let loose, so she has a point.
“Do you want the play-by-play on Willa?” she asks.
“Right. Of course.” Quickly, my inebriation and attempts at relaxation disappear. There’s work to do. What else matters?
Lexi gives a quick explanation. She talked up our latest app tweaks, explained Jake’s absence as a client emergency, and promised to show up at the investor dinner in four weeks as the picture of commitment.
“What about Jake?” I ask.
“What about him?” she asks. “He knows where we stand. And we’re set to meet to talk next week. No problem.”
“Wait. You’re going to see him during your break?” I ask. “I thought you were taking time apart.”
“Maybe we should finish this conversation in the morning,” she says. “When you’re sober.” She lets out a hearty laugh. “I always wanted to say that to you.”
“How does it feel?”
“Fantastic. No wonder you revel in it.” She stands and cops a triumphant pose. “I, Alexandria Huntington, am the most sober sister in the room. For the first time in my entire life.”
“Great work.”
“Thank you.” She smiles. “River is sweet, huh?”
“Very.”
She looks at me carefully.
“He isn’t like you,” I say.
“Like me how?”
“He’s romantic,” I say.
“Dee, everyone is romantic compared to me.”
“But he likes you,” I say. “He really likes you. In a serious kind of way. Not a one-night-in-the-back-seat kind of way.”
“I’ll make sure we’re on the same page,” she says.
I doubt that. It’s more likely she’ll break his heart. Or, somehow, he’ll spread the word of love and convince her relationships are great. If he’s desperate to convince me, he’s probably desperate to convince her, too. “What did you say to Jake anyway?” I ask. “Did you tell him you put things on pause because you wanted more physical action?”
The confidence drains from her face. “How?”
“What do you mean how?”
“How do you say that to a guy?”
Lexi doesn’t know how to broach a topic? Wait. “Isn’t this your expertise?”
“Relationship conversations?”
“Seduction?”
She looks to the floor. “What am I supposed to do? Put on my Horizontal Lambada playlist, pull out a bottle of wine, and tell him I want to slip into something more comfortable?”
“Is that what you normally do?”
“It’s different,” she says.
“How?”
“I like him.”
“Then why did you break up with him?”
“Because I can’t be with someone I like, who I haven’t fucked,” she says. “You know that.”
And all at once, reality clicks into place. She’s afraid of intimacy, and she uses sex to hide it.