Total pages in book: 53
Estimated words: 51131 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 256(@200wpm)___ 205(@250wpm)___ 170(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 51131 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 256(@200wpm)___ 205(@250wpm)___ 170(@300wpm)
I don’t know how this keeps happening to me, but at least this relentless pursuer is handsome and unmarried.
Chapter Four
Gemma
When I drive home tonight, the Hartley garage is open, but I don’t see Brent’s car.
As soon as I get my car in my garage, I lower the door anyway, just in case.
I’m still uneasy until I get in the house and see Parker sitting at the island, reading a book.
“One minute,” she says without looking up. “They just kissed and there was a scene break, but it’s only a few paragraphs, and I want to finish the chapter. You know I hate stopping before a chapter ends.”
I crack a smile, dropping my bag on the counter beside the fridge. “I thought you were over here wasting away.”
“I was, but you took so long I decided to start my new book, and now here we are.” She ignores me, focusing her attention on her story while I move around the kitchen gathering ingredients and cooking supplies.
Even though I had the whole drive home, I haven’t decided whether I’ll tell Parker who I’m going out with tonight. There probably isn’t a reason to. We’re only going for a drink. It’s not like we’ll ever go out again.
I won’t lie to her, but maybe I’ll be vague and just tell her I’m having a drink with a friend.
Given how immersed she is in her new story, she probably won’t even ask questions. She’ll want to be free to read her book tonight, so she won’t be disappointed I’ll be out.
This worked out kind of perfectly.
Once Parker finishes her page, she closes the book and comes over to help me make the ham and cheese rolls we picked out for tonight’s dinner. I feel guilty for being distracted the whole time, but I can’t seem to get my mind off my nighttime plans.
I can’t actually remember the last date I went on. Not only because it has been a long time, but because years of aimless dates have run together.
Was it Dev, the cheap guy who invited me out for drinks and then refused to actually order anything but water so I would have to pay for my own? Was it the guy with the greaser hair-do who had no opinions about anything and then told me during dinner that his last girlfriend had been married, but hey, he doesn’t judge? Could’ve been the bankrupt divorced dad whose idea of a date was me coming over to his place to watch a football game on TV and trying to maul me while his two-year-old took a nap. Maybe it was Brad, the doctor I had been excited about because surely a doctor would be an intelligent conversationalist at the very least. But no. He was boring and a bad kisser.
Actually, I think it might have been him. That date left a sour taste in my mouth—literally—and I felt so dejected when I got home that night, I decided to take a hiatus from dating altogether.
It feels wrong to even include Hayden in the same group as those men for reasons I can’t explain.
It’s completely possible he’ll turn out to be a total asshole. Even if he isn’t, it can’t go anywhere, so I shouldn’t get my hopes up.
It will be nice to go out, though.
Maybe.
I find myself watching the clock, keeping track of how long I have to get ready as Parker and I cook and then eat. She tells me about her book, and I tell her about Nancy, but I don’t mention Hayden, and it’s difficult to feel like I’m not lying to her.
It feels a little like betrayal going out with the father of the enemy, though.
That probably means I shouldn’t go, but I suppose it’s too late to back out now. I don’t even have his cell phone number to text him and tell him I changed my mind.
I don’t know what to wear. I stand in my small walk-in closet looking at everything I own, but I don’t actually know where we’re going. He asked me out for a drink, so probably a bar, but what kind? A quiet wine bar with other adults where we will have a nice, quiet conversation? A lively club packed full of beautiful, writhing bodies and scarcely a soul over thirty?
God, I hope it’s not a place like that. I didn’t like clubs when I was in my early twenties, so I certainly don’t want to step foot in one now.
My closet is arranged by color, but I’m grabbing hangers from every section and hauling them to the bed. There’s a green dress, a blue dress, and even a white. High neck, strapless, maybe a halter?
Parker walks by on the way to her bedroom, but she stops dead in her tracks, her eyes widening as she looks at the mess on my ordinarily pristine bed.