Total pages in book: 94
Estimated words: 95340 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 477(@200wpm)___ 381(@250wpm)___ 318(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 95340 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 477(@200wpm)___ 381(@250wpm)___ 318(@300wpm)
“Oh.” Brodies eyes are as wide as saucers. “What’s your go-to meal on this cute dinner?”
“I have to think this through because it’s a tough one.” I sigh. “Ugh, so many options—it depends on what I’m in the mood for. I love a good burger, but only if it has a good, squishy bun. A burger is”—I kiss the tips of my fingers—“chef’s kiss.” And unpopular opinion. “Seafood. Shrimp cocktails all day long.”
To my surprise, Brodie nods along.
“I can endorse that. I could eat the ass out of a lobster tail.”
The ass out of a…
Say again?
I laugh despite the fact that he’s not trying to be funny, which only has me giggling harder.
It occurs to me that Brodie probably doesn’t purposely try to do anything—well, except hockey because it’s basically his job.
CHAPTER TEN
BRODIE
Sully: Bro. What are you guys doing in there?
Me: Nothing.
Sully: Nothing? Please.
Me: Seriously. She’s half asleep.
Sully: Let her sleep, ha ha. No funny business.
Is he being serious?
He thinks I’m going to fool around with a girl he asked out on a date only a few hours ago?
Me: You call it funny business like you’re my grandpa. Chill out, she’s sleeping.
Sully: Maybe she should come sleep in my room, ha ha.
Me: Stop using HA HA in your sentences. It’s weird. Say LOL like a normal person.
He’s annoying me, and I can’t mask it.
Me: And she can sleep in here like she planned on doing. Pretend she’s not here.
What does he even care anyway? Sullivan Brewer can have his pick of girls, and he chooses one that’s right under his nose? Easy pickings, if you ask me, but I’m not getting involved. Lizzy can do what she wants.
If he’s her type, great.
Fine.
Says a lot about her.
Like what exactly?
Like. That she likes slick, douchey athletes who have more good looks than common sense.
Who’s the one who sounds like a grandpa, now, idiot?
I glance over at her, mostly asleep, soundly, hugging one of my spare pillows as if she were holding a teddy bear.
My roommate has no fucking clue how hard it is for me to actually talk to a woman, let alone ask her out, and here he is, flaunting it in my face.
That’s not what he’s doing, dipshit. He seriously can’t even help himself. He sees a cute girl, finds out if she’s single, and asks her out if he’s interested.
Period point blank.
Why can’t I be like that?
Because you’re not. You are who you are.
My mom used to always tell me that when I’d come down on myself for not being as socially…aggressive as some of my buddies, never wanting me to feel less than for being an introvert—which has led me to sitting back and watching some of my friends scoop girls I’d normally be interested in talking to.
Oh well.
Other sage wisdom my mom has bestowed upon me, in no particular order:
You snooze, you lose.
You hesitate, you die.
That’s a him problem.
And my favorite? Grow a pair.
Chicks always fall for guys like Sully. They can’t help themselves.
I’ll have to be the first to admit he is pretty charming, and he’s not exactly the worst. In fact, he’s one of my best friends, so I should be happy for him. But in the short amount of time Lizzy has been in my bedroom, she seems pretty damn cool.
Easygoing, cute, smart.
Very interested in getting to know me on a more personal level—at least I think that’s what she’s doing, asking me all those random questions. Didn’t seem like she was prying. It felt more like she was trying to give a shit.
I’m not completely hopeless.
I have dated a few people, just nothing long-term. I think I’m too quiet for a lot of them. I usually only talk when I actually have something to say.
Fine. I’m hopeless. When I say I’ve dated a few people, I mean two.
I’ve dated two since I’ve been in college, but it’s not as if I have a fuck ton of time to date.
You could make the time. Plenty of guys do.
Oh my god—shut up!
Flopping down on my pillow, I roll to the side and feel around for my phone charger, plugging in my cell and rolling to my back.
Go to sleep, dude.
I can’t.
Not with her cute breathing next to me and that little sigh she just made.
It’s going to be a long night…
CHAPTER ELEVEN
LIZZY
Will wonders never cease…
The squirrel is gone.
By the time I returned home this morning—skipping breakfast of any kind at Brodie’s house in favor of a quick run to a coffee shop—the little squirrely bastard had seemingly found his way out of the house. Even better, our landlord followed through on his promise by sending out a pest control guy, who thoroughly searched my bedroom to determine that he had indeed gone out the window.
As we speak, the plaster from the drywall patch job in my closet is drying, the attic is being set for traps, escape and entry points are being discovered by the pest control dude, and I no longer have anything to fear, as irrational as my fears may have been.