Total pages in book: 89
Estimated words: 90682 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 453(@200wpm)___ 363(@250wpm)___ 302(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 90682 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 453(@200wpm)___ 363(@250wpm)___ 302(@300wpm)
No, I don’t have a fucking reservation, I want to growl, a bundle of tension. I actively pursued a woman here who doesn’t know I’m about to crash her girls’ night.
“I’m actually lookin’ for someone,” I admit. “Her name is Posey, but she might be here under someone else’s name?”
Who would have brought her here? “Molly Summervale?”
Her fingers track down a row of names until she spots the one she’s looking for. “They’re at table nineteen. Right this way.”
I follow her, head down so I don’t catch anyone’s eye, lest they get it in their heads to spring up from their chairs to fan all over me; or chew my ass out for switching teams, but that would probably only happen if I was prancing around New York.
Here?
They don’t give a shit.
Still.
A football fan is a football fan and I’m not dumb enough to know the lot of them would give their testicles for a chance to meet me in person.
There are five of them total, seated at a round table, all laughter coming to a halt when I stop next to it.
Posey’s girlfriends all stare; their mouths drop open.
I stuff my hands in my pockets, waiting for her to notice me behind her as she chatters away, oblivious to my presence.
“Posey.” Molly’s eyes are as big as space sauces—maybe wider. “You have a guest.”
“I—” She stops talking long enough to glance behind her, finally feeling me looming. “Duke?” It takes her brain a few moments longer to register me. “W-What are you doing here?”
She goes to stand, then thinks better of it, plopping back down as quickly as she started to rise.
“Sorry to interrupt,” I apologize, all kinds of awkward.
“Well, you did,” a young woman with jet-black hair and dark eyes glares at me from across the table. She is not having whatever she thinks I’m about to serve up.
Everyone is glaring at me tonight.
I feel victimized by my own bad choices.
“Um.” Posey anxiously takes the napkin off her lap and sets it on the table to keep her hands busy. “Duke, this is Molly—Eli’s girlfriend. And that’s Anna, who just had a birthday. And this is Anna’s roommate, Brigid.”
“Delicious cake,” I can’t help saying.
The girl with the jet-black bob-cut gives me a curt smile.
“And this is Kate. Kate Cohen is actually Eli’s sister.”
Ah. This I did not know.
“Your ears must be positively burning,” Kate Cohen muses with a genuine smile.
Thank God. An ally.
I need one of those in this group. “They were. I also got an earful from Mrs. Galvin.”
Posey looks up at me from her chair. “Mrs. Galvin—don’t tell me she’s here, too.”
“Ha, no. But I borrowed her car.”
Posey’s giggle sounds manic. “And what do you owe her for that favor?”
“New sheets for her bed, from Costco.”
All the women at the table have surprised expressions on their faces.
“And I had to give the valet fifty bucks to be seen in it. I’m hopin’ he leaves it unlocked down the street with the keys in the ignition,” I joke.
A few of the ladies crack a smile.
Good.
Progress.
“So—what are you doing here?” Molly demands peevishly. “We’re in the middle of girls’ night, and after this, we’re going barhopping so we can find Posey a man.”
Find Posey a man?
Er.
I’m not sure what to say to that. Did she not tell her friends that she and I… that me and she…
Fucked?
“I was hopin’ to have a few words with you.”
“And you came all this way to do it when you could have called her on the phone?” Molly rolls her eyes. “Oh wait—that’s right. You never asked for her number when you snuck off in the middle of the night.”
Okay—so they do know we had sex.
Right.
Okay then.
I ignore her barbs and press on. “Yes, I came all this way because I wanted to talk to you in person.”
Posey’s head dips a bit; I can’t tell if she’s nodding or not nodding. With this dim light, it’s hard to tell. Plus, she’s sitting, and I’m standing, and at this angle, it’s impossible to get a read on the situation.
But she hasn’t told me to get the fuck out of here, which I take as a good sign.
I’m aware of the tables around us; aware of the whispers as patrons take notice of me. I mean, anyone with a functioning set of eyes, who watches the news, has recognized me.
At six-foot-four, I stand out like a sore thumb, especially since I’m standing here like a turd.
I’m in the server’s way when she comes to check on the women, fill their water glasses, and ask if they need more drinks.
“I’ll take a bread basket,” Kate announces. “And we’ll order appetizers, thanks.”
It’s like I’m there but not really.
It’s like they want snacks before the show begins.
“I shouldn’t have left without saying goodbye,” I blurt out. “It was a dick move, and I’m sorry.”