Total pages in book: 76
Estimated words: 73699 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 368(@200wpm)___ 295(@250wpm)___ 246(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 73699 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 368(@200wpm)___ 295(@250wpm)___ 246(@300wpm)
“Mmmm. And how are your parents?”
I lift a warning finger. “Off-limits, and you know it.”
“So you haven’t seen them yet.”
“No,” I grumble, trying to dodge the pervasive stab of guilt and failing.
“Do they know you’re living in the same city as them these days?”
“I’m working up to it. You don’t know them, Kurt. They’re not regular parents. They’re not even regular people.”
“Okay, fine. One battle at a time. We’ll start with your spouse. How have you tried to win him over?”
“I made him coffee this morning. He didn’t even say thank you.”
“Who usually makes coffee?”
“Him.”
“Do you say thank you?”
I open my mouth then shut it. “Fair point. Okay, so what do I do?”
“Remind me of your ideal endgame?”
“My not dying over the course of the next three months?”
He rolls his finger. “Non-hyperbolic version.”
I sigh. “I’d settle for not feeling so inferior whenever he’s around. I can deal with the fact that we’re not going to be BFFs, but it’s been a long time since someone’s made me feel so … inadequate.”
“Have you asked him what he thinks of you?”
“Um, no. How exactly does one have that conversation?”
Kurt places his hand over his chest. “Okay, pretend I’m you …”
Kurt flutters his eyelashes and twirls an imaginary lock of hair. “Hi, Colin? I know my hair looks kind of skanky right now, but that aside, I’m just wondering why you think I’m scum?”
Kurt shifts positions slightly to the other side of his chair then scowls before speaking in a low, lilting voice. “I don’t disdain ye, lass. I’m just a wee bit shy is all.”
“That is the worst Irish accent I’ve ever heard.”
“But he does have an Irish accent, right?”
“Yeah. But—”
I break off when I hear the front door open.
“Gotta run,” I tell Kurt.
I slam my laptop shut before my friend can say goodbye, not wanting Colin to know we were talking about him and his sexy accent.
Did I say sexy?
Yes. Yes, I did. Because even though his accent’s not quite as thick as it was ten years ago, there’s still something distinctly hot about a man with an accent, especially when he looks like this one.
He’s wearing a blue shirt today with his standard dark gray suit, and it brings out the bright blue of his eyes even more than usual. Blue eyes that blink once too fast when he sees me, as though he’s still not used to seeing me in his home.
Colin gives a quick incline of his chin, his version of a greeting, as he closes the front door.
We’ve been at this for a week, so I know what happens next. He puts his briefcase in the hall closet, goes to the kitchen for a glass of water and sometimes an apple, and then retreats to the bedroom. Sometimes he stays in there most of the night, except to eat, reading or watching TV. Some nights he’ll head back out, to do I don’t even know what with his evenings.
He’s never outright rude. He’s considerate of noise. Cleans up after himself—and me, if I do something crazy like leave a baguette out on the counter. He speaks to me if I ask him something. He continues to put eggs in front of me every morning if I’m up at the same time as him. But like I told Kurt, I can’t shake the sense that he doesn’t like me. Or at the very least, wishes I wasn’t here.
Which I can understand. I don’t particularly want to be here either. I still have pretty regular fantasies about strangling my brother for getting us into this mess, especially since Justin’s been continuing to ghost me. I can’t even blame him. My brother’s an exceptionally intelligent man. Avoiding the sister whose prenup you manipulated is a very smart strategy for preserving personal safety.
Still, Justin did get me into this mess. He got both of us into this mess, and we’re stuck with it. And simply wishing the situation away isn’t going to work. Something’s got to give, and I guess it has to be me.
“Hey, do you want a drink?” I blurt out, as he opens the coat closet to set his bag inside.
Colin slowly straightens and gives me an unreadable look. “What?”
“A drink,” I repeat patiently. “Alcohol optional. Consumed while in my company. That part is not optional.”
“A drink here?”
I shrug. “Why not? You’ve got that fancy bar cart with all the fixings. And I make a really good martini.”
“Vodka or gin?”
“Either. Both. Bond drank vodka.”
“Churchill drank gin.”
“Bond was hotter,” I counter.
Colin’s hands slip under his open suit jacket, finding his hips as he studies me. “You’re a 007 fan.”
“I’m a Daniel Craig fan. And Pierce Brosnan. And Connery. Okay, yes, fine. I’m a 007 fan.”
He nods. “All right then. Ever had a Vesper?”
I shake my head. “It sounds vaguely familiar though.”