Total pages in book: 110
Estimated words: 106935 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 535(@200wpm)___ 428(@250wpm)___ 356(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 106935 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 535(@200wpm)___ 428(@250wpm)___ 356(@300wpm)
I laugh uncomfortably, even though I’m glad David’s mood is better. He looks relieved as he takes off, the door snapping shut with a be careful what you wish for finality.
I’m alone with his father, once again.
19
THE FRIENDSHIP STRATEGY
Layla
I stay at the kitchen island the whole time, making calls and sending emails. Nick paces by the living room window, and it’s hard not to watch him. I have a thing for the way he walks.
Not helpful, libido.
But in my libido’s defense, have you seen him in those tailored pants? That snug shirt? That undone tie?
As he chats with college friends, tech gurus, colleagues, and the like, he progressively tugs on the maroon silk.
During the first call, he fidgeted with it.
During the third, he loosened it.
During the fifth, he unknotted it.
Now during his eighth or ninth call, as I’m texting with Raven about her designer donation, he’s undoing the fabric.
I steal glances in between texts as his nimble fingers undo the silky material.
“It’ll be great to see you there, Trav. And no, I will not go easy on you on the basketball court next week. I will never go easy on you,” he says, then ends the call with an amused shake of his head.
“You play basketball?” I ask, setting my phone on the counter. I’m far too interested in this tidbit about Nick.
“Pickup basketball,” he says.
“I figured as much.”
“Why’s that?”
“Well, I didn’t think it was pro ball.”
Dropping the tie on the back of the couch, he laughs. “I mean why did you figure I’d play pickup.”
“You seem like the kind of guy who strides onto a court when he damn well pleases, trash talks his friends, and takes their money when he beats them.”
Nick’s eyebrows rise as he crosses the room. He likes that compliment. “Thank you.”
I laugh. “What if it wasn’t a compliment, Nick?”
“It was a compliment,” he says, and I like this banter. I’d rather we get along for real.
“Cocky,” I tease.
“And you like it,” he says, then he shakes his head, muttering, “Shit.”
“What’s wrong?”
He stops at the end of the counter, dragging a hand through his hair, roughly. “I need to do better.”
I wish I could play dumb, but I know what he means. “I think you’re doing fine,” I say.
I mean it. I like this Nick better than the cordial one in the elevator. At least he’s being real. I feel less weird with Real Nick than Cordial Nick. Even though I’m still hot for him.
He deals me an intense stare. “It’s hard,” he says on a sigh, then gestures from him to me.
“It’s hard for me too.” Maybe this charity planning will be easier if we just acknowledge how tough it is to be together when we can’t be together.
“Yeah?” His voice pitches up the slightest bit.
“It is. But we could try to be friends,” I say brightly, offering that as a strategy. A damn good one if I do say so myself.
He snorts. Then the snort turns into a laugh.
“You’re not friends with women?” I ask.
“Of course I am.” His denial comes too quickly, and I must tease him about it.
“Are you though?”
“Yes,” he says, adamant.
“Name one,” I challenge.
He hedges too long, thinking too hard.
I point at him. “Ha. Called it.”
“I’m friends with women,” he says, trying again. “There’s…Eunice at work. She’s a VC.”
“Fine. A work friend,” I say, in a tone that makes it clear colleagues don’t count.
“There’s…” But he’s struggling, even when he snaps his fingers and says, “Danielle. She’s a cool bartender I was buds with when I last lived here. She and her wife are in a pickleball league.”
I sit back in the stool, laughing. “So it’s Eunice from work, and Danielle and her wife from a few years ago.”
“Yes,” he grumbles. “Do you have many guy friends?”
Ha. Who does he think he’s dealing with? “Ethan. He walked me here. We’ve been friends since—”
“—Grade school,” he says.
His recollection of the details I shared about my friend in Miami makes me feel a little warm and fuzzy for him. Which is also not entirely helpful. But I try to redirect those warm feelings toward friendship.
“David,” I add. “Obviously he’s a very good friend.”
“Yeah, too bad you didn’t mention him in Miami,” he mutters.
Ouch. “Was it? Was it too bad?”
Nick jerks his gaze toward the window, staring too long, then looks back at me, quietly admitting, “You have to know I’m glad you didn’t. Say you know it, Layla.”
Now I’m warmer. Like equator levels. “I know,” I say.
“Good. Because I have no regrets,” he adds, and why does he have to be so damn sexy that I’m aroused again?
This is going to be the hardest charity event I’ve ever planned. Must focus on my new strategy. “So, do you want to be friends with me?”
Nick seems to consider it for a beat. But in the way you consider something that’s your only choice. “We’re kind of stuck doing this. We should try,” he says, amenable.