Total pages in book: 135
Estimated words: 128430 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 642(@200wpm)___ 514(@250wpm)___ 428(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 128430 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 642(@200wpm)___ 514(@250wpm)___ 428(@300wpm)
Her hand covers her belly, and she looks around as if others are eavesdropping. “My stomach just growled.”
I push the plate closer to her. “Take the other half.”
“I—”
“I insist.”
She bobbles her head in debate and then sits. “Well, since you insist.” Picking up the other half, she dips a corner into the soup, then devours a big bite. “Little known fact about the coffee shop. We only make this meal on stormy days. I’ve pleaded to management to keep it on the menu, but the owner insists it tastes so good because we crave it.”
“Absence makes the stomach grow fonder.”
“Something like that.” She takes another bite and monitors the other patrons. Everyone’s too involved in their work to care about her taking a break with me.
When we finish our halves, she moves the bowl to my side of the table. “I appreciate the snack. Now eat your soup.” Pushing up, she adds, “I need to get back to work.”
Glancing at my laptop, I say, “I guess I should, too.”
“I’ll leave you to it.” She backs away and adds, “Thanks for sharing. The food’s on me.”
I’m sure she means something entirely different than the images populating my brain. I finish the soup, then dig into my paper. The professor crossed a line when she threatened me with an F. So what if I skipped some classes and forgot about a few assignments? I aced the tests, and I’ll be golden when I finish this paper.
If only something more interesting didn’t hold my attention. It’s when I’m watching her flutter around the shop that I realize that, unlike the party, she doesn’t blend in here at all despite the dark-colored clothes.
No, Story is just the book I want to read.
But if memory serves me right, and it always does, she had a boyfriend back in August.
Fuck.
Troy Hogan.
He and I have had more than our fair share of encounters. None went well for him. The thing is, Story was never in attendance. Did they break up?
Catching her eyeing me, I grin. She smiles from behind the counter like I didn’t just bust her and keeps staring at me. I don’t mind those hazel eyes on me, but I can’t figure her out.
When that Lou character calls her over again, I check her out. Five-three. Five-four max. Hair kissing the middle of her back. Even through the heavier material of the clothes, I can tell she’s got a rockin’ little body. She doesn’t come off as the type of girl to hide her curves. She just has the confidence to wear what she likes.
Passing by, she drops off a glass of water and swipes the empty plate and bowl. I’d forgotten about the coffee since I only ordered it so I wouldn’t get kicked out of the place. I take a sip of it even though it’s cooled. I really need to focus, and maybe the caffeine can help.
I stick in my earbuds, turn on a white noise track, and start where I left off in my research. I’m not sure how long I’ve been working, but when I sit up to stretch, I notice half the place has emptied out.
Story hops off the counter and comes over with a water pitcher. As she tops off my glass, she says, “I never did get your name.”
I’ve thought about this girl over the past five months, wondering what ever happened to her. I’d see Hogan and look for her to pop out of his beatdown truck. That never happened. But here she is as if something bigger just played their hand, and we’ve hit the jackpot. I hold my hand out. “Cooper.”
She slips her hand in mine, and when we shake, she says, “It’s nice to meet you, Cooper.”
“The pleasure’s all mine.” Our hands fall apart. Since I was never one to beat around the bush, I ask, “Are you seeing anyone?”
2
Story Salenger
Cooper is so handsome that my body warms under his golden boy glow.
What’s not to love or lust when it comes to that razor-sharp jaw or the way his green eyes pierce their target even in the dim light of the coffee shop? Broad shoulders and tall enough to make me feel tiny in his shadow? I can’t determine if his athletic build was crafted through workouts or living life to its fullest.
I can’t even get started on that hair that’s just shy of black to match the images I’ve already created of him, or I’ll be weaving my fingers through the soft waves like he’s been doing. It’s a tic of his, just like the way his jaw tenses when he’s trying to read my mind. With determination set in the pupils of his eyes, I think he might be thinking about more than my social life.
Strangely, I’ve never seen him around—not on this side of town per se but not even on campus. And although he’s asking about my relationship status, I’ve also wondered about his and who the lucky girl in his life might be and what she looked like. By the clothes, I’m pretty sure a girl on his arm would be on the designer side of fashion instead of walking around in ripped tights and an old sweater.