Total pages in book: 121
Estimated words: 116362 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 582(@200wpm)___ 465(@250wpm)___ 388(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 116362 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 582(@200wpm)___ 465(@250wpm)___ 388(@300wpm)
“What the hell time is it?” I say, fumbling for my phone but knocking it off the table. It’s already dark outside but time couldn’t have gone by that quickly.
“Oh, it’s him, it’s him,” she says in a giggling hush. “He’s here.”
“Ana, go answer the door,” I wave at her, trying to get up. “Stall him.”
“But you look so beautiful sweet one,” she’s coos. I can barely see the devilish smile come across her face. “But if you insist.”
Oh god no. There’s no way I can let her talk to him alone.
“No wait, I’m on it!” I cry out, pushing her out of the way and running to the door. I fling it open and hope that whatever she did to my face looks somewhat decent.
Blake is standing there, laptop sleeve in one hand, cardboard coffee cup in the other. He seems somehow taller and manlier standing on my stoop with the dark of night behind him, a grey cargo jacket atop jeans and grey Vans. There’s a peculiar twist to his dark brow and he seems surprised by my ambush but he’s not looking at me any stranger than normal.
“Good evening,” he says in an overly formal voice. “Is this where the brilliant author Amanda Newland resides?”
“Very funny,” I tell him. “You’re early.”
“Actually I’m not,” he says. He raises his coffee, gesturing to my face. “But I can see you’re ready to go. Your roommate did a nice job, by the way. Very subtle. Suits you.”
I watch him carefully. He at least looks sincere. “Okay, give me a second.”
I hear him say “Sure,” as I close the door on his face and run back inside. I scoop up my phone and grab my purse hanging from the back of the chair.
“You’re really not going to invite him in?” Ana asks, hedging toward the door.
“No,” I tell her adamantly. “There’s no reason to and he’s not meeting you. You’ll be telling him how hot he is or how badly I want to have sex with him within a second.”
“So you do want to hump like chickens.”
My disgust turns to confusion. “What? Chickens?” I shake my head. “It doesn’t matter.”
Then I head for the bathroom because there’s no way I’m leaving the house without seeing what she’s done to me.
I flick on the light and a gasp escapes my lips. It really should have been a scream.
She’s done the Kardashian contouring that almost looks passable when I’m looking straight on but the moment I turn my head, you can see the thick stripes of brown and white marking up my cheeks, my nose, my chin. I look like Lichtenstein pop art. It doesn’t help that my lips have bright red matte lipstick shellacked on them, my cheeks look like they were splattered with coral sparkles and my eyes…my eyes make me look fucking crazy. My brows appear to have been whited out with concealer and then drawn on again in thick auburn arches and she’s attached two false eyelashes to my lids. None of them match, not the brows and not the lashes, one of which seems to be climbing half-up my lid, making my eyes appear to be looking in two different directions.
“You like?” she asks, appearing in the mirror behind me. There is so much hope and worry in her overly-lined eyes that I don’t dare break her heart or confidence.
“It’s beautiful,” I lie, flashing her a smile that makes my lips crack. “Thank you.”
She beams at me and lets out a sigh of relief and I know that I can’t take an ounce of it off my face until I’m out of the house.
Speaking of, somehow Blake was able to look at my face earlier and show zero shock or revulsion. I’m not sure if I should be worried that he’s that good of a liar or impressed that he was able to hold back a millions barbs. Then again he did compliment me, which I now realize was layered with a metric shit ton of sarcasm.
I quickly grab my laptop bag and head for the door, ignoring Ana’s gleeful noises. Blake is still standing where I left him and I quickly shut the door behind me.
“So I guess we’re going somewhere,” he says before taking a slow sip of his coffee. “I’m afraid I’ve surpassed my caffeine allotment for the day, so it’ll either be a bar or my place.”
I give him a pointed look – which has to look extra emphasized thanks to my runaway eyelashes – and push past him into the night, walking down the gravel path that goes through the backyard and up the side to where we have our own gate.
I can hear him following me, shoes crunching on the gravel, his presence at my back. Something about it all makes a nervous shiver run through me, as if I’m realizing that I’m alone with him for the first time. I’m not sure what it means, but since I know my face looks hastily put together, the feeling doesn’t last long.