Total pages in book: 127
Estimated words: 123435 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 617(@200wpm)___ 494(@250wpm)___ 411(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 123435 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 617(@200wpm)___ 494(@250wpm)___ 411(@300wpm)
I have to laugh. Evan had been itching to get back together with Genevieve West since she moved back to the Bay after a year away in Charleston. Not only did he win her back, but they’re now engaged. Good for Evan, though. He’s loved the girl since the eighth grade, for fuck’s sake. He deserves the win.
“I can’t believe they’re actually getting married,” Chase says, shaking his head.
“It’s wild,” I concur.
“I hear you’re next,” Danny pipes up, elbowing me in the arm. “When do you plan on proposing to Alana?”
I pretend to think it over. “I’m gonna have to go with … never. I don’t think I’ve met anyone less interested in marriage than Alana. Besides, that’s not happening anymore.”
Coop glances over, intrigued. “No?”
“No more friends with benefits,” I tell him, shrugging. “We’re back to being regular old friends.”
Danny hoots. “She dump you?”
“Dumping would imply being in a relationship, and we definitely weren’t in one.”
“Did you break the news to Steph yet?” Cooper snickers. “I think the girls had a bet going that you would fall in love with Alana. Pretty sure Steph staked her life savings on yes.”
“Love?” I raise a brow. “Dude, I can’t be held responsible for Steph’s irresponsible gambling choices. Has she met me?”
What the hell is love, anyway? It’s one of those words that gets thrown around so haphazardly, like grains of rice at a wedding. I love this. I love that. Love you. Love you too. I’ve experienced platonic love, sure. I love my family, my friends. But romantic love? The kind of love that runs so deep you feel the other person in your soul? My only real relationship was with a girl I dated in high school for a year. We had a good time together. The sex was phenomenal. But was I in love with her?
When it boils down to it, I suspect it was just lust. Same as the rest of my encounters with the opposite sex. The string of hookups, the flings … love didn’t play a role in any of those, and that includes my arrangement with Alana.
“Yo. Tate.” A coaster nails me in the forehead.
I blink back to reality and hear the boys chortling. “What the hell was that?” I growl, rubbing my forehead.
“You literally zoned out for ten minutes,” Danny informs me.
“Ten minutes?” I challenge.
“Okay, maybe, like, ten seconds, but still. Becca dropped off your beer and you didn’t even say thanks.”
Oh shit. I look over my shoulder, but Becca is already serving another table. I reach for my Good Boy and take a sip, just as the flinch-inducing shriek of microphone feedback fills the bar.
“No,” Danny blurts out. “Fuck, no. They’re back.”
Unenthused, the four of us turn toward the stage, where the band has indeed returned. They waste no time bursting into a song that starts with an inexplicable surf riff that’s completely incongruous to the plaintive wails leaving the lead singer’s mouth.
“Yeah, no,” Cooper says. He slams his bottle down and glances at me. “Chug that beer so we can get the hell out of here. I can’t listen to this all night.”
“Joe’s has half-price shots tonight,” Chase says, already sliding off his stool. “I vote we go there.”
Danny frowns when he notices I’m not drinking. “Didn’t you hear the man? Chug,” he orders, pointing to my bottle. “My ears are rebelling, bro.”
“Fine.” I grimace, then tip my head back and drain about two-thirds of my Good Boy before calling it quits.
While the band continues to assault the eardrums of the Rip Tide’s patrons, my friends and I bail, hurriedly climbing the narrow staircase up to the street. We emerge into the night a moment later, the balmy heat warming my face. It’s just as noisy out here on the main strip, but I prefer loud voices, raucous laughter, and faint carnival noises to the torture chamber we left behind.
We’ve made it about three steps down the sidewalk when a familiar face enters my line of sight.
Well, look at that. My new temporary neighbor. She’s with a friend, a tall chick with flat-ironed hair and flawless skin. Both girls wear short dresses, although the friend’s is much tighter than Cassie’s.
“Seriously, ginger?” I call out, grinning. “You’ve been in town, what, less than a week and somehow I’ve run into you eighty-nine times already? If I didn’t know any better, I’d think you were stalking me.”
Cassie’s jaw drops. “I am not. And stop calling me ginger. I told you I’m not a ginger, I’m a copper.” She crosses her arms as if to emphasize her outrage, but all it does is emphasize her chest, pressing her tits together in a seriously appealing way.
Fuck. That rack. I can’t handle it. It doesn’t go unmissed by the others, either. Even Cooper, who has a girlfriend with whom he’s nauseatingly smitten, briefly flicks his dark eyes toward Cassie’s chest. She notices the attention, because her faces flushes and her arms drop to her sides.