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)
Sully: I can’t. I need you to tell me.
I turn off the ringer on my phone and toss it face down on the bed.
“How would you describe me?” Lizzy wants to know, her legs swaying back and forth now as if we were in a park, on a picnic blanket on a warm summer day.
“You are the thief of questions, for one.” I would be remiss not to point this out to her. She’s stolen more of my questions than come up with original ones of her own, though I’ll admit, they are some pretty damn good ones.
“You’re assertive. Extroverted. Cute.”
She mulls these over in her mind before nodding her approval. “Accurate.”
Very accurate.
I play my piece, eyeing up the game board, fully aware that I’m one chip away from losing this match—wondering if she notices the move she can play and win, watching as her eyes move along the columns, up, down, back, and forth.
She shows no indication that she sees her three in a row, hand hovering over the second column. Moves it to the first row. Back to the middle.
Plop.
“I win.”
Pfft. “That’s because you’re distracting me with your tits,” I blurt out.
“You just called my boobs tits,” she whispers. “Why do I find that so fucking hot?”
Uh.
Uhhhhh.
“I don’t know,” I say, dumbly. Why does she find that so fucking hot, and can we not ignore the fact that she used a curse word in a sentence?
That was fucking hot.
“What do I want you to take off?” she ponders out loud. “Hmm.” Only hesitates a second. “The shirt. Take off the shirt.”
“I don’t get to choose?”
Her head shakes with a scoff. “No.”
Bossy little thing.
I tug at my T-shirt, lifting it up and over my torso, pulling it over my head, hair getting mussed in the process. Throw the shirt to the ground.
Feeling vulnerable without the tee on, I recline on the bed, not sure how to hold myself with her gaze on me; I can literally feel it scorching my skin…it’s as if she has her hand on my chest, fingers gently caressing the spot where I got his with a stick last season, the scar faded but still visible.
“Who goes first? You?” she asks, still eyeing me up.
“Sure. Hit me.”
“Worst first date?”
Is she being serious right now? “I have had no bad first dates because I’ve barely dated.”
“Hmm.”
“What? You don’t believe me?”
“I believe you. It’s just crazy to me that you hardly date at all.”
“Why?
I realize we’re bending the rules we set for the game by firing off questions out of order, but I want to pick her brain and find out why she finds it so unbelievable that I don’t date.
“’Cause. You’re a good-looking guy, and I know that people must hit on you. You can’t tell me they don’t.”
I mean. “No. They actually don’t.”
Lizzy studies me from her spot on the bed. “Maybe it’s the resting bitch face.”
The resting what? “I do not have resting bitch face. Guys can’t have that.”
“Says who?”
Me.
People.
“Fine,” she amends. “Resting dick face, ha ha.”
“You’re such a brat,” I grumble.
She is unfazed by my irritation. “Take your turn.”
“I’m going to take a play out of your book and ask the same thing; worst first date or a dating horror story.”
Lizzy taps her chin. “I don’t know if I have any bad first dates but like—guys are just rude. Or they think that because they paid for your burger, you owe them a blow job.” A snorting sound erupts from her throat. “In case you were wondering what women have to put up with.”
I wasn’t wondering before she said it, but I am certainly wondering it now.
“For real?”
“Yes, for real. Dude, just because you paid eight dollars for some food doesn’t mean you’re owed shit. Like here, take the money and never text me again.”
“How many times has that happened?”
“Once. But it happens to my girlfriends. Bethany is so lucky she’s in a relationship. Dating is a dumpster fire.”
“Do you use dating apps?”
Her brows go up. “Sometimes. If I’m bored.” Her finger begins making slow circles on the bedding. “Seriously, Brodie, give me a reason to get off the dating apps.”
Silence fills the air.
“Anyway!” she chirps cheerfully. “Your move.”
Plunk.
CHAPTER TWENTY-SIX
LIZZY
That chest of his is going to get us both in trouble.
Concentrating doubly hard so I can win and remove his pants, I furrow my brow, studying the stupid yellow game grid. For a game that’s so easy to play, Brodie and I are both being super strategic about it, and I wonder if he’s as determined to get me naked as I am to get him naked.
“So you’re saying you don’t think I should be on dating apps?” he asks, placing his blue chip in the board. He glances up at me, hair all mussed from removing his shirt.
He is so yummy.
Firm.
Bruised in the most sexy way.