Total pages in book: 141
Estimated words: 135831 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 679(@200wpm)___ 543(@250wpm)___ 453(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 135831 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 679(@200wpm)___ 543(@250wpm)___ 453(@300wpm)
“In hockey the refs never give you the puck after the other team scores, like they do in football. On the ice, you have to fight for it,” I say, and this guy? He’d never fight for her. I know that for a fact.
“In hockey, you don’t need much skill. All you do is wave a stick,” Everly counters.
I see her bid and I raise the ante one more time. “And finally, the hockey season lasts twenty-six weeks, not including playoffs. Football is eighteen weeks. Ergo, hockey players have more stamina.” Crossing my arms, I rest my case.
“You both make great points,” Sophie says as the server returns with the drinks.
Once we thank her, I take a sip of my beer.
Lucas shoots Everly a serious look, then me, before he blows out a breath. “I have to ask,” he says, pausing to lick his lips, then to laugh, almost apologetically. “Did you two date?”
I nearly spit-take my beer.
Everly coughs. “No. Never.”
“Tell me how you really feel,” I counter.
“Because I’m getting a vibe,” Lucas adds.
“Funny, Lucas. I get that vibe too,” Sophie says pointedly.
“We definitely did not date,” Everly says, then finishes her tea, takes a breath, and peppers Sophie and Lucas with questions for the next thirty minutes till the date mercifully ends.
I push back first, slap down a hundred to pay the bill for the table, then say goodbye, heading to the street with my sister. Once we’re outside, she pokes my chest. “We are going to talk about what you did.”
“Yes, Mom,” I say, but I don’t make a move to leave yet to drop her off at Kade’s friend’s home. I watch the door, waiting for Everly. They leave a few seconds later, waving goodbye awkwardly, then Lucas walks down the street the other way.
As Sophie waits for me, I trot over to Everly, gesturing to my car down the block. “Want a ride to dinner?”
She breathes fire. “Are you kidding me? I do not want a ride. I’m calling a Lyft.”
“I have my car. Let me drive you.”
“I’d rather walk barefoot,” she seethes as she taps open the app.
“Everly,” I say. “We’re going to the same restaurant.”
“Don’t Everly me,” she hisses as she orders her ride, then stares me down. “Why did you do that?”
“Because he’s wrong for you,” I say with no remorse. “And I knew it the second he invited me to join you.”
“I guess I’ll never know now though if he is,” she snaps, and seconds later, a red Honda pulls up. She gets inside and slams the door.
On the one hand, she doesn’t just hate me. She loathes me till the end of time. On the other hand, she’s not having a second date with him.
I’ll chalk that up as a win.
18
THE MAX EFFECT
Everly
I’m so ticked off, I'm experiencing the Max Effect. Side effects of prolonged exposure to bossy, overbearing men who think they know what’s good for you might include a rage spiral.
Except I can’t afford to rage spiral. I need to calm down before dinner with my boss and Max’s agent. I have to act like I don’t want to throat-punch the star athlete.
On the ride over, I close my eyes and try to let go of my irritation as best I can. By the time I’m a block away, I feel somewhat human, but my brain keeps playing Max’s words on a loop: Because he’s wrong for you.
I hate that he’s right.
I hate that I didn’t feel the chemistry with Lucas before Max barreled into the bar and sabotaged my evening. I already knew there wasn’t going to be a third date before he showed up, but I hate, too, that I was secretly excited when Max arrived.
What is wrong with me? I can hear my father’s voice slithering in my ear with an answer. Well, you’ve always had bad taste in men, honey.
I try to drown out the comment he made when my last romance went south a few months in. My dad’s right though. I don’t pick well. I have the track record of failed romance to show for it. I’m nearly thirty, and I’ve never had a non-toxic relationship.
But at least I’m good at my job, so I vow to focus on that as I arrive at Kitchen Mosaic, an upscale fusion restaurant in the Financial District. It’s the kind of place where the city’s high rollers take clients to seal deals. After I thank the driver, I hop out of the car and go inside, taking a deep, centering breath before I tell the host I’m joining the Emerson party of four.
Except it’s a party of seven, she informs me.
I roll with the change. When I arrive at the table, Max’s agent is here, and he’s brought two people from the agency. He makes quick intros to a woman named Rosario and a man named John. Zaire’s here too. I wasn’t expecting Clementine to come but the general manager’s at the table as well. I really need to stay calm.