Total pages in book: 121
Estimated words: 113880 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 569(@200wpm)___ 456(@250wpm)___ 380(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 113880 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 569(@200wpm)___ 456(@250wpm)___ 380(@300wpm)
“Hey.” He shifts his stance and pushes his hands into the pockets of his slacks. Rather than appearing relaxed, there’s a pensiveness in his expression that feels awkward. “I just wanted to check in with you, away from the group. You know, to make sure you’re really okay.”
It’s a kind gesture, but I’m not sure why he feels it’s his job. He’s not my daddy, even though he’s probably quite close to my father's age. Is that why he’s worried about me?
Worried, but not enough to have refused to pick a string and have a place in the lineup.
“I’m good, Oliver,” I say. “You don’t need to worry.”
“Are you sure?”
I frown and take a moment to think about how to approach the situation. Part of me finds this whole ‘check up on Allie thing’ patronizing. Does he really think I don’t know my own mind? I have enough of this kind of thing from my parents. “I am.” I make sure I say the words firmly so nothing can be misconstrued.
Oliver’s jaw ticks, but he doesn’t reply. Whatever he wants to say is trapped firmly between his teeth.
“I’m ready to come down,” I say. “Does the food look good?”
“Yeah. Clay made a sausage casserole. It’s not top of my list of favorite cuisines, but it looks okay.”
“Great.” I beam brightly, hoping that by being upbeat, Oliver’s mood will improve.
“And the guys have suggested we play some drinking games…I’m not sure it’s a good idea. Maybe you should go to bed early?”
“It’s been a long time since I played a drinking game. It could be fun.”
Oliver’s jaw twitches again and as a rumble of laughter travels up the stairs, he glances away from me.
“Is there something you need to say to me?” I ask him.
He draws in a long breath, but his lips remain thin. Then he turns and begins to head downstairs, leaving me to follow.
Dinner is uneventful, other than the mini-interrogation about Carson’s sexual prowess. Clay slaps him on the back like a proud father whose son has just graduated.
The food is demolished, and the plates are cleared and we head out to the seating area by the pool for after-dinner drinks.
Someone puts on a soulful playlist with a sexy twist, and I settle onto the edge of a sunbed. Stefan brings me a blanket in case the slight chill of the night air is too much for me.
Carson emerges from the kitchen with a small bowl of chocolate ice cream, garnished with a fresh strawberry and presents it with a wink. I cover my legs with the blanket and devour the dessert, as my heart warms from their unexpected, sweet attentiveness.
Theron lines up eleven shot glasses and expertly pours tequila across them with minimal spillage. “He used to be a barman,” Gabe says, producing the salt and lemon. I get a flash of Theron doing the same kind of mixing as Tom Cruise did in Cocktail. We drink the first shot as a group, with some participants more eager than others.
Jonas suggests starting the drinking game for the second shot but then struggles to come up with the question. Theron glances at the glasses that stand like tulips in the sun. “How about everyone drinks if they’ve ever had fantasies about one of their teachers?”
“Shit.” I reach for a glass and Gabe, who’s sitting next to me, claps me on the back so hard I almost spill the shot.
“You seriously had a crush on a teacher?”
“Didn’t you?”
The grimace on his face is hilarious. “I went to a catholic school. All the staff were ancient and gross or nuns.”
A few of the men recount details of their sexy teachers and the ridiculously young ages they were crushing on them. Looking back, Mr. Sanderson wasn’t exactly good looking. There was just something boyish and kind about him that stood out amongst the other gray has-beens at my school.
“What about…everyone has to drink if they’ve never had sex in the ocean,” Jonas says, already reaching for a shot.
“The criteria can’t always involve never having done something sexual, otherwise I’m going to be drinking every round,” I complain, already feeling the warmth of the liquor spread from my stomach to my mind. Seasoned drinker I am not.
“Okay. Let’s make it about something else,” Stefan suggests, giving me a conspiratorial wink. “Drink if you’ve ever been in love?” He leans back in his chair and rests his hands on his knees.
“What? Seriously?” Tom reaches out for a shot and knocks it back without bothering with the salt and lemon. He grimaces, using the back of his hand to wipe his mouth. “You’ve never been in love?”
Stefan shrugs. “Nope.”
“Dude.” Jimmy doesn’t down a drink either, but he seems more concerned about Stefan’s lack of a fulfilling love life.
Oliver drinks, as does Gabe, but none of the other men lift a glass, and neither do I. What a sad group. Three out of eleven have experienced a loving relationship. That’s terrible odds.