Total pages in book: 89
Estimated words: 83355 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 417(@200wpm)___ 333(@250wpm)___ 278(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 83355 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 417(@200wpm)___ 333(@250wpm)___ 278(@300wpm)
“Why are you so tense?” Brittany asks.
I glance up, pin her with a sharp look. “Who says I’m tense?”
She snickers at me and turns back to the gravy. “You are wound up tight. Surely your neck is hurting.”
It is in fact stiff because she’s not wrong… I’m nervous and feeling it in my neck. I give it a good roll on my shoulders and continue slicing the cranberry sauce.
“Come on… dish. Why are you so bent out of shape?” she asks. “You love to entertain, cook and have guests over. It was a sweet thing you did inviting those single guys who have nowhere to go for the holiday, and I for one am looking forward to the eye candy that will be seated around our table.”
“If it were just that, sounds like a lovely time. But my looming date with King has me a little freaked,” I admit. “And well… it’s awkward having a social interaction before the date. And around his friends and teammates. I don’t even know if they know that King asked me out.”
“No,” she says, turning from the stove and pinning me with a look. “That’s not what’s bothering you.”
Ugh… I sometimes hate how well my sister knows me. Sighing, I point my knife at her. “Mind your own business.”
She points her gravy spoon right back at me, a drip falling on the floor, which she ignores at the moment. “You’re freaked about the age thing.”
I throw one arm out. “Well, come on, Britt. I’m eight years older than him. I think I made a mistake by accepting.”
“Wow,” she drawls with exaggerated shock. “An entire eight years. You’re practically old enough to be his… big sister.”
“Bite me,” I snap at her, bringing the knife to the sink to rinse it, even though I used that same comparison myself.
“Listen,” she says as she grabs a paper towel to clean the gravy off the floor. “Why did you even say yes to a date if it bothers you so much?”
“Because he’s a nice guy and charming and hot and you told me to go forth and date. Plus… he’s a Greek god as you pointed out.”
“He’s such a Greek god,” she murmurs with a sigh, but then shakes her head as if to dispel that dreamy fantasy. “Listen… quit stressing and just enjoy this.” She turns off the flame under the pan.
I dry the knife and lay it on the counter before tucking a strand of hair behind my ear. “What if his friends think it’s weird? I mean, it’s obvious I’m older.”
“It’s not obvious and all they will see is the same thing King sees… a beautiful, successful woman who can totally rock dating a twenty-five-year-old.” Brittany sets the spoon aside and comes over to give me a reassuring hug. “As for his teammates, I’m sure he’s told them what’s going on. And if not, well, they’ll figure it out. You’re not hiding anything and you’re not doing anything wrong.”
I nod slowly, starting to feel a bit more at ease. “I guess you’re right.”
Brittany smiles, pulling away to check on the oven. “You’ve been through tougher stuff, Will. Trust yourself. And hey, if things get awkward, we’ll just blame it on the fact you’re so old, you’re senile.”
I chuckle at the jab, grateful for my sister’s support as well as her attempts to make light of my fears. “Thanks, Britt. I needed that.”
“Anytime,” she says with a wink, turning back to the oven. “And if it doesn’t work out with the two of you, put in a good word for me. I am closer to his age, after all.”
“Bitch,” I mutter, pulling a kitchen towel off a hook and snapping it at her. It catches her square on her right butt cheek and she shrieks as it cracks loud against her ass.
She wheels around, eyes wide and mouth gaping. “You did not just do that.”
I spin the towel in my hands. “Want another crack?”
Brittany’s eyes dart around the kitchen and her gaze lands on another kitchen towel by the sink. She starts to lunge for it, but I step in her path, poising my towel to strike again. She halts, narrows her eyes and then spies the bowl of mashed potatoes on the counter beside the stove. There’s a silver spoon beside it and she casually scoops up a large mound and turns slowly toward me.
“You wouldn’t,” I say in warning.
She cocks the spoon. “Oh, I would.”
And then she lets it fly. The potatoes catch me right in the neck with a blob of them falling down into my shirt.
I stare in shock at her, then at the potatoes resting in my cleavage and back to her. “You’re so going to pay for that,” I snarl.
I rush for the potatoes and don’t bother with trying to find a spoon. I grab a handful and whip them at her. She turns her body and the food catches her on the shoulder blade but satisfyingly splats against her long curly red hair.