Total pages in book: 101
Estimated words: 104745 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 524(@200wpm)___ 419(@250wpm)___ 349(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 104745 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 524(@200wpm)___ 419(@250wpm)___ 349(@300wpm)
“Taking a snack out of the oven.”
“What kind of snack goes in the oven?”
“Pizza.”
He hesitates. “The whole thing or a few pieces?”
I swipe some tomato sauce onto my finger and lick it off.
Yum.
“Whole thing.”
Drake laughs again. “A light snack, hey?”
I shrug, going to the drawer for a pizza slicer. “Honestly, I haven’t been grocery shopping in days, so there wasn’t much to choose from, but I’m also in the mood for…pepperoni.”
The pizza is actually sausage and cheese, but I wasn’t about to tell Drake I was in the mood for sausage and give him an opening to make a dumb joke about meat or his dick.
Cause: sausage.
See?
That’s thinking ahead and using the brains my mama gave me.
“Sounds good.”
“Uh-huh.”
“Maybe one of our dates should be dinner, eh? Somewhere nice?”
Dinner?
Now he has my attention. Not that he lost it.
But like food. “I’m listening.”
Say more.
forty-three
daisy
Date Four
“I can’t believe how nervous I am.”
“Well, you look amazing. There’s nothing to be nervous about. His jaw is going to hit the ground when he sees you.”
Stella is perched at the end of my bed, watching me fidget and fuss and fluff my boobs so my cleavage is more modest.
They’re too big for this tight dress.
I glance down at them, smoothing a hand over my stomach self-consciously. “Are you saying that because this is your dress?”
“No! I’m saying it because it’s true. What are you so nervous about, anyway? You’ve been out with him like…what? This is your fourth date?”
Fifth, if we’re being technical.
But I nod, because I’m in no mood to remind her about what a tool he was when he and I met. Or maybe I’m in no mood to remind myself.
I stand in front of the mirror looking at the makeup Stella applied to my face, my eyes popping with the copper liner and tan shadow. Lips? Glossy.
My brows pop.
She’s braided my hair but pulled at it so the braid ends are a masterful, purposeful mess. The braid falls over one of my shoulders, flirting with my exposed cleavage.
The dress is white and floral but deceptively demure. Bubble sleeve. Square neckline that dips low on my chest. Tapered waist. Narrow skirt.
I’m borrowing her shoes, too, a white cork wedge, standing four inches taller than I do flat footed.
“Damn, you look good.” Stella admires her work. “I forgot how amazing that dress is.”
I tried on so many after digging through my closet, discouraged that nothing I have is dinner date worthy.
I sigh.
Fine. That’s not necessarily true.
But there wasn’t anything I felt good in, so Stella stepped in, whisking me away to her closet—it’s busting at the seams and filled with clothes that still have tags. We’re not exactly the same size, but this one worked.
I fuss with the end of the braid.
“Stop touching your hair. It took me an hour to get it to look like it’s supposed to be that way.” She reaches for me, moving my hand away from my head. “Do you know where you’re going?”
I shake my head. “No.”
Drake
I can’t believe how nervous I am.
This isn’t one of those dates where you bring a chick flowers, but now I’m questioning myself. Should I have brought flowers? Shit.
I’ve never done this.
Barely gone on an actual date, if you don’t count homecoming in high school, and that wasn’t my choice. Drew and I were on court and had to go to the dance. If we’d turned it down, our mother would have killed us.
So we went, but I didn’t have an actual date.
And the girl I was on court with did, so it’s not as if we did shit beforehand, like a fancy dinner or whatever. I can’t remember what her name was, but I remember her cursing me out after the grand march in Spanish, something about me being rude and arrogant or whatever.
Think I stepped on her dress and didn’t apologize, but again—can’t remember.
Shit, what was her name…
Marisol?
Nina?
Anyway.
I’ve never gone on a date like this.
Which required a phone call to my brother—not Drew, he knows less than I do—but Duke, the expert on women since he’s actually shacking up with one and has successfully managed to stay in a relationship with her, despite the media and stress that comes with his job.
Turning onto Daisy’s road, I grin, thinking about our conversation.
He answered my call on the first ring.
“What’s up, nutsack?”
Well, isn’t he the sweetest. “Hey, I need to make this quick. But, uh.” I wasn’t sure how to tell him this. “I have a date.”
My brother was silent for an uncomfortably long time.
“Duke? Are you still there?”
“Yes, I’m processin’. It sounded like you said you had a date.”
“I did say I had a date.”
“With your right hand? Or an actual person.”
“Don’t be a dick. I had a question.”
Duke clears his throat, speaking to someone in the background. Sounds like he’s in a locker room somewhere? “Yeah, give me a minute. I’ll be done when I’m done with this call—it’s my little brother.”