Total pages in book: 65
Estimated words: 60418 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 302(@200wpm)___ 242(@250wpm)___ 201(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 60418 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 302(@200wpm)___ 242(@250wpm)___ 201(@300wpm)
“Yeah, romance was definitely what I’d been expecting.” I said that with wall-to-wall irony, but Eden totally failed to catch it.
“Are you going to see him again?”
“Doubtful.” I’d really tried, but there was almost no way to continually look interested while some spoiled rich guy went on and on about himself.
When he realized I wasn’t going to volunteer any additional information, Eden asked, “So, what are you up to now?”
“I’d planned to hang out with George, but he’s out shopping with my brother, of all people. No good can come of that.”
He grinned at me. “Right? Casey spends his whole life in one of three things—bad pun T-shirts, scrubs, or if he wants to get dressed up, Hawaiian shirts.” That was one hundred percent accurate.
I joked, “Well, maybe George is looking to bring some sweet Aloha style into his wardrobe.”
“That’s really the only explanation.”
“Oh wait, I just thought of another reason he’d pick Casey instead of you,” I said. “Want to bet he sweet talked my brother into fast food for lunch? He knows you’d never go for it, but he’s got Casey wrapped around his little finger.”
“That has to be it! They’re probably gorging on junk food as we speak. And watch, they’re going to try to keep it a secret from me.”
“They definitely are, even if they come home with French fry breath and a ketchup goatee,” I said, which made him chuckle.
He leaned against the counter and crossed one ankle over the other. He was dressed in a gray T-shirt and long basketball shorts, which was basically his around-the-house uniform. “I would’ve taken George for fast food if he really wanted me to. Does everyone just assume I’m totally inflexible?”
“Not…exactly.” He winced at that, and I said, “Okay, but when was the last time you did something spontaneous, silly, or bad for you, just because you wanted to?”
He smiled at me, which brought out his lone dimple. “The fact that I can’t actually think of an example right now doesn’t mean I never cut loose. It just means I have a bad memory.”
“But I have a great memory, and I can’t think of the last time you cut loose, either.”
“Aw, you think I’m boring.”
“No, not at all! I’m just saying you could make fun more of a priority. Today, for example. You have the day off, right?” When he nodded, I asked, “What do you have planned?”
He grinned and said, “Later on, I’ll be partying with my seventy-three-year-old granddad, and you and Casey.”
“And before that?”
“I was going to spend the day regrouting the downstairs bathroom.” A bark of laughter slipped from me, and he said, “Okay, so suggest something else. Whatever it is, I’m game.”
“Are you serious?”
“Absolutely.”
“Okay, then. I’m going to get a quick shower, and I’ll meet you back here in fifteen minutes for a day of spontaneous merriment. We’ll need to take your truck, since it’s too far for public transportation.”
Eden asked, “Do I get to know where we’re going?”
“Nope. The dress code is casual. Bring a sweatshirt.”
I started to leave the kitchen, but he called after me, “Hold up.” When I turned back to him, he was staring at my legs, and he asked, “Did you get a tan?”
“Kind of?”
“By laying out?”
“Not exactly.”
He met my gaze as a smile played around his lips. “What did you do, Seth?”
“It’s a spray tan. I got it at the fancy salon yesterday, when I went for my haircut. They were having a special.” He started to chuckle, and I joked, “Look, as a gorgeous Black guy I don’t expect you to relate to this, but we’re in California now and believe me when I say I was way too pale. I looked like I’d just escaped from a sanitorium in the nineteenth century, had caught a touch of vampirism, and was in need of a fainting couch.”
He smiled at me. “I always thought vampirism was an all or nothing kind of deal.”
“This topic is covered in my autobiography, under the chapter heading ‘Dear God how can anybody be this pale?’ It’s right before the chapter on being alarmingly blond.”
He was scrutinizing my legs again, and not paying attention to the comedy gold I was laying down. “You know, you’re pretty—”
“Don’t say it.”
“Orange.”
“I’m not saying it was a success, or that I’m going to do it again,” I said. “But, you know, when in Rome—”
“Disguise yourself as an Oompa Loompa.” I laughed at that, and he asked, “Do you know the color’s coming off on pretty much everything?”
I glanced at the towel. It was dark blue, but there was definitely an orange tint to it. Then I took a peek under my orange-rimmed tank top and said, “That’s actually news to me, especially since it survived a shower last night. It must be reacting to my sweat.”
“Does that mean there’s a pair of orange leg stripes on all our exercise equipment now?” His eyes were sparkling with amusement.