Total pages in book: 10
Estimated words: 9281 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 46(@200wpm)___ 37(@250wpm)___ 31(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 9281 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 46(@200wpm)___ 37(@250wpm)___ 31(@300wpm)
Then grab our own table. Just like friends.
Right. Sure. Just like friends.
An hour later this spiked hot cocoa buzz that’s working through me is making it hard for the sweet side of my brain to get any playing time. The spicy side of my head can’t stop thinking about how sexy Katie looks in that red sweater.
That snug red sweater.
Why do fucking red sweaters even exist?
Focus, Fisher, focus.
“So, how’s everything going with the lab and the turtles and the ocean and all that good stuff?” I ask.
As she sets down her mug of Lick My Lips, she tells me about the work she’s doing on conservation, and how well it’s going, finishing with a rap on the table. “Knock on wood, but we’re making some tiny, but very real progress with our efforts.”
With a proud grin, I lift my mug of cinnamon hot chocolate spiked with tequila. “I’ll drink to you being an awesome marine biologist,” I say.
She clinks her ceramic mug against mine. “And to you beating the Sea Dogs last night. That was quite a goal.”
I preen. “Which one?”
She laughs. “You’re such a show-off.”
“Just being honest. I scored two goals,” I say. Damn, that was a good game.
“Okay, the one in the second period. The one in the first period seemed more accidental.”
“An accidental goal? You kill me, woman.”
She stretches an arm across the table to slug my shoulder. “Somebody has to keep you in your place. Or your ego would be enormous.”
“And that’s your job? Ego checker?”
She lifts her chin. “Yes. That is the job of the best friend.”
Thank you!
Message received. Just what I needed.
Friend, friend, friend.
That brings me to my focus for tonight—asking my friend to go with me to the lighting festival. Katie lifts her cup, and as soon as she finishes that drink, it’ll be the perfect moment to make my friend date request. The squirrel snow globe is ready to wingman me down Friendship Lane.
When Katie sets the mug down, she mouths, whoa. “I think that one went straight to my head. Before you know it, I’ll be telling you all my secrets,” she says.
Secrets…
Like what you like to do in bed? Or maybe what you want me to do to you?
I grab the bag from the floor, jam a hand in it, then shove the snow globe across the table. “I got a little something for you,” I say.
Her brown eyes twinkle. “Fisher, this is so me,” she says, clutching it to her chest. That lucky snow globe is cuddling up against that red sweater, and I am jealous of a trinket. Send help, someone, please. Then she shoots me a very devilish look. “And I have a feeling you need me to help you with something.”
Was I that obvious? “You could tell?”
She shoots me an I know you so well look. “In high school, you gave me a box of Russell Stover chocolates to help you figure out how to ask out Leanne to the Valentine’s Day dance.”
Huh. I did do that. “Fine, but that was just one time.”
She scoff-laughs. “How about when you gave me the board game I’d been wanting, and then asked for my advice on great dates to take the woman from yoga to?”
“But you wanted that board game, and besides, that jackass you were seeing was too cheap to buy it for you,” I add as the sound system shifts to “White Christmas.”
Katie laughs, and after we grab the next round of spiked cocoa, she keeps going. “And how about a couple years ago? When you gave me that shirt that said I like Coffee, Dogs, and Maybe Three People. And you wanted my advice on how to ask out the gal who runs the karaoke bar we went to when I was in town for the holidays.”
Hmm. I’m detecting a pattern here. Still, I protest with, “But you’re good with that stuff. Romance and women and all that.” I want to add and you were seeing that jackass Peter who I couldn’t stand. And you know what? Thanks to this tequila, there’s no need to keep that important observation to myself. “And you were seeing somebody,” I point out.
She shoots me a look like my comment didn’t compute. “What does that have to do with it?”
That’s an excellent question, and I’m working through the answer right now. “Nothing,” I improvise to cover up the holy shit, mayday racing through my head. “I was just remembering details.”
She must buy my excuse since she nods and says, “So, who is she and how can I help this time?”
You. She’s you.
Time stops and I look back at the last several years through new eyes. Did I want to ask her out at the karaoke bar? Was I wishing she were single when I met the woman from yoga? Was there a part of me that was hoping she’d leave Henry sooner than she did?