Total pages in book: 109
Estimated words: 127476 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 637(@200wpm)___ 510(@250wpm)___ 425(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 127476 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 637(@200wpm)___ 510(@250wpm)___ 425(@300wpm)
Highly unlikely, I think, but I don't say that, letting her believe what she wants. I would turn her down, decline the invitation, but her words nag at me, making a denial nearly impossible to force from my lips.
"Fine," I say. "Okay."
A flicker of surprise passes her face that she wipes away quickly with another smile. "You sound so enthusiastic."
"Cooking out and hanging out aren't really my things," I admit. "I prefer delivery and solitude."
"I've noticed," she says, going back to what she was doing when I got home, tossing a few sodas in on top of the ice. "What about swimming, though? You said nothing about swimming."
"That's because I can't swim."
She nearly drops a soda, swinging around fast. She doesn't bother trying to hide her surprise this time. "You're kidding."
"Do I look like I'm kidding?"
Her eyes survey my face as she shakes her head. "That gives a whole new meaning to you giving me the plank, you know."
"Not really," I say, casually leaning against the doorframe. "Either way, I end up drowning, whether I can swim or not."
"Yeah, but at least if you can swim, you have hope of maybe surviving."
"Sometimes it's better to not have hope."
She scoffs. "That's nuts. If I'm going into the water, I'd like to know I at least have a chance."
"Even if it's false hope?"
"Absolutely." She sticks the top on the cooler, closing it up when she's done packing it full. "I'd rather have a reason to fight than to just give up right from the start. I don't care if the hope is a lie and I'm just delaying the inevitable… at least give me something to cling to. Something's always better than nothing."
She leans back against the counter beside the refrigerator and crosses her arms over her chest, a peculiar look passing across her face as she regards me. I know her well enough to know she's thinking about her mother, about the deceit, about the glimmer of hope her mother tried to instill in her in life, twisting the ugly truth into a semi-decent lie… a lie I shattered, a hope I took away. I destroyed the fantasy with reality.
She'd be happy living in the clouds, but I grabbed her by the feet and dragged her back down to the ground.
Karissa would prefer the second wind, I realize. Even with death knocking at the door, inevitably coming to take her away, she'd want nothing more than to believe there was a chance for her to stay.
"You'll really come?" she asks after a moment.
"Yes."
"I'll call Melody," she says. "Her and Paul were going to pick me up, but since you're going they don't have to."
"Okay."
She pulls out her phone but doesn't use it yet, still looking at me, studying me, like maybe there's something else she wants to say. Her eyes trail me from head to toe before meeting my gaze again. "You are going to change, right?"
Instinctively, I glance down at my suit. "I wasn't planning to."
"It's the Fourth of July," she stresses. "It's a cookout, not a board room meeting or, you know, whatever it is you do in those suits."
The way she words it makes me laugh. "I do everything in these suits… socialize, eat, work… I've even been known to fuck in them before."
The flush of her cheeks and the sly grin she tries to repress tells me she very clearly remembers that happening. "I'm just saying, you know… you might be more comfortable in something like I'm wearing."
She motions to herself to stress her point, and my eyes instinctively scan her body, all too happy to have an excuse to openly ogle her. "Something tells me I wouldn't look nearly as good in that outfit as you do."
She rolls her eyes, the blush only deepening. "You know what I mean."
"Yeah, I do," I say. "If it'll make you happy, I'll change."
"Thank you."
I end up changing into some of my workout clothes—a pair of black gym shorts and a plain white tee, digging a pair of black sneakers out of the bottom of my closet. I haven't worked out in a while, with Karissa keeping me preoccupied and my injury making it hard to even walk around for too long some afternoons.
After I'm out of the suit, I head back downstairs, hearing Karissa's voice as she talks into her phone.
"Yeah, I'm sure," she says. "We'll meet you guys there."
She hangs up, slipping the phone into her back pocket, before turning toward the doorway when I step back in. Her eyes widen, jaw dropping, as she gapes at me so hard it damn near makes me hesitate.
"What now?" I ask, glancing down at myself.
"Uh, nothing," she says, shaking it off as she averts her eyes. Huh. "I've just never seen you wear anything like that before. It looks good… I mean, I'm just saying, you look good."
The flush is back on her cheeks.
"Are you hitting on me, Karissa?"
"What? No! Of course not! I'm just saying…"
"You're saying I look good."
"Yes."
I let out a laugh, shaking my head, waiting for her to finish whatever she needs to do. It only takes her a few minutes before she turns to me and smiles, a large canvas tote bag on her shoulder, stuffed full of her things. I take her expression to mean she's ready and grab the foam cooler, motioning with my head for her to start for the door.
I stick the cooler in the trunk of the car, and she drops her bag beside it, huffing as she does so. "Jesus, it's hot out here today."
"You sure you want to go?" I ask, slamming the trunk closed. "It's only going to get hotter."
She scoffs. "I can handle the heat."
Brooklyn Bridge Park is on the upper eastside of the borough, located along the waterfront of the East River. I park the car in a garage a quarter mile away, knowing I'm never going to find a spot on the street, and grab the cooler from the trunk as Karissa once again slings her bag on her shoulder.