Total pages in book: 116
Estimated words: 111732 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 559(@200wpm)___ 447(@250wpm)___ 372(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 111732 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 559(@200wpm)___ 447(@250wpm)___ 372(@300wpm)
“Impressive dancing, you two!” a female voice calls out nearby, and we both turn to find Mr. and Mrs. Walters in a clinch a few feet away on the dance floor.
“The band is great!” I call back. “We’re having a blast.”
“We can see that,” Mr. Walters says with a wink. “You two are showing everyone how it’s done.”
Oh, my heart. It was one thing to impress our targets with our fake romance when we first got here. When that was the plan. But throughout this week, we’ve become genuine friends with these wonderful people, so I can’t help feeling guilty about our continued deception. Even worse? I don’t even feel like I’m deceiving them. I feel like I’ve been nothing but honest throughout this whole week because I’ve only been doing what comes naturally. Acting on what’s in my heart. Namely, my undeniable, heart-rending, heart-melting love for one Maximillian Vaughn.
“Should we find Ripley and our parents?” I ask. “We’ve been dancing for a while.”
“Yeah, let’s see what they’re up to,” Max agrees. He grabs my hand, and we head into the heart of the party.
When we find our people, Ripley’s waiting in line to run a three-legged race with another little girl while Grampy and Gigi stand nearby, ready to cheer the girls on. Ripley made friends with this little girl on the first full day of camp, and they’ve been inseparable, ever since.
When Ripley sees Max and me, she shouts, “Mommy! Maxy! Watch us race! If we win, we’ll get a trophy!”
Max and I stop next to Dad and Gigi.
“Every team gets a trophy,” Dad murmurs, and we all laugh.
A staffer goes down the line, tying each team’s inner legs together, and when she gets to Ripley and her friend, Max says he’s gonna head over there to give the girls a few pointers for the race. Curious, I follow him. And then smile when I overhear Max’s advice to the girls.
As he crouches down before the kids, Max says, “Okay, girls, here’s how you’re gonna get that trophy. Ripley. Sweetie. Look at me, honey.”
Sweetie? Honey? He’s never called her either of those endearments before. My heart can’t bear it, especially knowing it’s probably the one and only time he’ll ever call Ripley those things, since we’re leaving camp tomorrow and Max will be moving to California shortly thereafter. After this, when will Ripley get to spend quality time with her beloved Maxy-Milly, ever again? When will she ever get to hear him call her sweetie or honey? I’m guessing never.
Max grabs Ripley’s glasses and cleans them on his shirt as he talks. “Here’s the key to winning this race, girls,” he says. “All you have to do is remain upright through the whole race. That means never falling down. That’s it. Everyone else is going to sprint off the starting line way too fast and get caught up and fall over. So, as long as you go slow and steady from the start, and keep yourselves upright the whole time, I guarantee you’ll make it to the podium. That means you’ll come in first, second, or third place and win a trophy.”
Ripley gasps. “I’ve wanted to win a trophy my whole life.”
He hands Ripley her glasses. “Well, follow my advice and you will.”
I snicker. “Or don’t. And you will, regardless.” Nobody can hear me back here. I’m merely amusing myself.
“Work as a team,” Max continues. “That’s the key. You’re both too little for one of you to drag the other, so you have to work together. Got it?”
“Got it!” both girls shriek.
Max puts up his palm, and both girls high-five their coach with gleeful squeals. I look away, my heart aching. At this point, everything that man does only makes me want him more. It’s excruciating.
“I’ll stand on the sideline and coach you during the race, cutie pie,” Max says to Ripley. “Henry, will you come be my assistant coach? There’s a lot riding on this.”
Dad laughs. “You bet.”
As Dad and Max trot away toward the sideline, Gigi stands next to me behind the starting line. “Wonders never cease,” she murmurs.
“He’s a competitive dude,” I reply, figuring Gigi is talking about Max’s surprising level of commitment to coaching the girls in the race.
“No, I mean, Max just called Ripley cutie pie. I haven’t heard Max call anyone that, in any context, ever.”
My heart stops. Gigi caught that, too?
I smile. “Max isn’t one for terms of endearment?”
“Not really. At least, not that I’ve heard for quite some time.”
“He calls me Boo, when we’re being silly.”
“Really?”
“When we’re playing our parts.” And, lately, he calls me baby in bed, too. As a matter of fact, Max whispers “baby” into my ear, like it’s a sacred prayer, every time we make love. Or, rather, have sex. I’m making love these days. Max is still fucking me. But whatever. The point is, I happen to know Max uses terms of endearment quite liberally. At least during sex with me. And it always turns me on like crazy. But, of course, that’s not something I’m going to tell his mother.