Total pages in book: 84
Estimated words: 79853 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 399(@200wpm)___ 319(@250wpm)___ 266(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 79853 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 399(@200wpm)___ 319(@250wpm)___ 266(@300wpm)
“I’m an author,” I retort, keeping a sweet smile on my face. “But if you’re not the reading type, you might not have heard of me.”
“Who has time to read?” Lauren laughs. “And I remember now. You have like an ebook or something, right?” She just has to get the final insult in there, and I’m not wasting my time on her. She quickly turns, hair swishing behind her, and puts her hand on Sam’s chest.
Suddenly, I’m back in the foyer of the sorority house, tears streaming down my face while Heather Hunt cackles like a madwoman with her hands all over Sam.
“Do you want to get a drink?” Sam asks me, moving Lauren’s hand from his chest.
“I, um, I…” I sputter. Getting drinks with Sam is a bad idea. I know it, and he has to know it too, which is probably why he’s asking. He might have grown up, but he’s still the same playboy who broke my heart years ago. “I already have a drink.”
“You’ll finish that one eventually.” Sam’s lips pull into a grin, and he runs his hand through his hair, making me weak in the knees. Stay strong, Chloe, stay strong!
“Maybe.”
Dammit. That is not what I wanted to say. Thankfully, I’m given a few seconds to recover when the dark-haired woman Mason was with comes over.
“I go to the bathroom and come back to you all gone,” she says, and Mason turns, wrapping an arm around her. “I knew you were a sore loser.”
“I am not,” Mason says back, pulling her hips to his. He doesn’t introduce us, and I get the feeling it’s because he’s not sure what this woman’s name is. “Come on, let’s play another round.”
The dark-haired woman nods and shifts her gaze to Lauren, waiting for her and Sam to follow.
“Go without me,” Sam says.
“Get us a table,” Mason tells him, whisking both the dark-haired woman and Lauren away, but not before Lauren can give me a final scowl. They leave, and the sounds of the bar wash over me again. Has it always been this loud?
“You’re here alone?” Sam closes the distance between us, leaning on the bar. I’m sitting on the barstool again, nervously stirring my drink. Why do his eyes have to sparkle like that? And why couldn’t he have shaved this morning? That stubble on his face only draws my attention to his perfectly sharp jawline.
“Does that surprise you?” I ask coyly, surprising myself a bit. Who is this girl being all flirty with Sam fucking Harris?
“It does,” he goes on, leaning a little closer, making my heart speed up. “I didn’t think you’d be the type to go to bars alone.”
“The type?” I put my straw between my lips and take a drink—successfully, I should add. I don’t choke or dribble anything down my face this time. “And what type is that?”
Sam smirks. “The type who arrives alone but has no intention of leaving the same way.”
One-night stands aren’t my thing. The closest I’ve had to one is sleeping with Martin Miller, a film producer, after our third date. A lot of tequila was involved, and sloppy sex was finished with Martin crying about how much he missed his ex. Such a memorable night, that’s for sure.
“Is that why you’re here?”
“I didn’t come here alone.”
I wrinkle my nose. “You came with Lauren?”
Sam doesn’t so much as flinch at the mention of her name. “I came with Mason.”
“And you intend to leave with him, don’t you?”
“It’s always been my fantasy,” he says seriously, and we laugh, slipping back into that comfortable friendship too easily. I need to claw my way back out to being awkward so I remember not to get ahead of myself.
Sam’s eyes are on me, looking at me like I’m a snack and he hasn’t eaten in days. I take another drink and put the glass down. I should order something to eat before I sit here, nervously sucking down drink after drink. I’m prone to poor decision making on a daily basis, but my chances of doing something I regret go up one hundred percent when I’ve been drinking.
“That table will be empty soon,” I blurt, right as Sam opens his mouth to say something.
“A table?” he questions, following my gaze to the table where Mrs. Clemmons and her friends were sitting. They just paid their bill and are getting ready to get up to leave.
“Mason asked you to get a table.”
“Oh, right. You want to join?”
“Um,” I start and grind my teeth together. I want to get something to eat, so it makes sense to go to a table where there’s a menu stashed behind the salt and pepper shakers. “Maybe. I am kind of hungry, but I also have the best seat in the house by the bartender.”
Sam looks at Sahil. “That’s Farisha’s brother, isn’t it?”