Total pages in book: 101
Estimated words: 97944 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 490(@200wpm)___ 392(@250wpm)___ 326(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 97944 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 490(@200wpm)___ 392(@250wpm)___ 326(@300wpm)
I lean back and kick my feet up on my coffee table. “Settle in, He-Man. We have a lot of episodes to cover.”
“Don’t you have work in a couple hours?”
The mention of work brings my mood down a notch. “No,” I say, starting the show.
“Why not?”
I exhale a long, drawn-out sigh. “Because I’m not ready to go back there. It makes me remember. And I don’t want to remember.”
Tate turns to me, concern in his gaze. I ignore it. I don’t need him, of all people, feeling sorry for me. “I’m a big girl. I’ll get over it. Now, watch the show.” For once, he does as I ask and leans back, draping his arm along the back of the couch. I ignore how it brushes against my neck and focus on the two housewives arguing.
It takes me a whole episode to relax. By the second episode, Tate starts asking questions. They’re super dumb, but I oblige and answer. By the fourth, I fall asleep. When I stir awake, the credits are rolling for episode seven. And somehow, I’ve snuggled my legs underneath me and rested my head on Tate’s shoulder, using it as a pillow. Crap. I quickly pull away. “Sorry. I didn’t mean to fall asleep.” Then I see the drool spot. Even more crap! The question is, do I brush it off or pretend I don’t notice? I would love to pretend nothing is there, but a bubble sticks to his shirt. Like, I was legit drooling to the point I was blowing bubbles! I make an impromptu move and slap him.
“Fuck.”
“Sorry, there was a fly. I missed it.” Bubble popped, I search for my phone. “What time is it?”
“Quarter past seven.”
“Shit, I missed a call from Fay. She told me she would call if Theo found anything out.”
I press redial as Tate speaks. “They thought they did, but it was a dead end,” he says as Fay answers.
“Hey.”
“Hey, back. Not the news I wanted to call with, but it was a dead end.” I inhale, and my shoulders deflate. I thought if Theo had found something, it would make it easier for me to return to work. This intensifies my anxiety. And since Russell is only giving me twenty-four hours, it really puts me in a bind.
“Me too. But no worries. All good over here.” I look at Tate, who’s watching me, his gaze digging deep into my soul and poking at my conscience, silently telling me he knows it’s not okay. That I’m not okay. I break our connection and stand. “Well, I know you’re swamped with the restaurant and stuff, so just call me if anything changes.”
“Minds, screw the restaurant. It can wait.”
“That’s not what your opening date says.”
“I mean, I can take a night off. Theo would love it if I did. How about we go out? I’ll let you take advantage of me. We can get super drunk at Callahan’s and ride the mechanical bull.”
“Okay, now you’re just messin’ with my emotions. You know how I feel about the mechanical bull.” His name is Jorge, and he’s fantastic. He taught me endurance and how to hold tight when riding a man. I’ve stayed on Jorge longer than I have an actual man.
“I would never joke when Jorge is involved.”
“And Theo is okay with this?”
“Pfft. Of course.” Theo’s suddenly in the background, asking what exactly he’s okay with. “Mindy and I are going out. It’s half-off wings at Callahan’s.”
“Babe, you don’t fuckin’ eat wings. And I know what you two do on that damn bull.”
I giggle into the receiver. Theo hates Callahan’s and every single guy who drools over his woman. I swear I’ve caught a dude watching her with his hands down his pants. “Tonight, I do. Love wings. Gonna eat pounds of them.” I hear his “Jesus Christ” and picture him wiping his hands down his face. It’s a good thing he loves her and saying no isn’t an option. “Fuck it, you can go, but Tate’s with you guys the whole time.”
“Oh, come on!” I yell.
“Tate or no deal, ladies.”
Dammit!
I love Jorge.
I look at Tate, scrunch my nose, then stick my finger out at him for no good reason. “Fine. He comes, but he stays to himself. If I see even a sliver of him in my peripheral, he’s fired.”
“You can’t fire him,” Theo says.
Tate sports a semi-smile.
“Not a sliver!” I yell again. “I’ll pick you up at eight.”
Fay squeals, we say our goodbyes, and I shove my phone in the side pocket of my yoga pants. “Not a sliver. You hear me? Jorge and I have a long-term relationship you have no business interfering with. He throws me off, it’s because I want him to. Don’t go pummeling him.”
I almost trip at his low chuckle as I walk away. The sound is what sex dreams are made of. Ignoring it, I keep walking. I need to get ready for Jorge, not think about his laugh or that half-smile. Or the way his arm felt touching the back of my neck.