Total pages in book: 106
Estimated words: 99356 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 497(@200wpm)___ 397(@250wpm)___ 331(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 99356 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 497(@200wpm)___ 397(@250wpm)___ 331(@300wpm)
“You couldn’t just say ‘no’?”
“Sorry,” I said. “I love games.” I gave the tip of her upturned nose a little tap with my index finger, then headed back to finish those fries I’d set down.
12
PEARL
My mom always said biting your nails was a nasty habit. Well, mom, say hello to Miss Nasty. My nails were all chewed down to painful nubs and I hadn’t even made it through a full day with Dean Slater. We were gathered in folding chairs in the hotel lobby while a pair of women talked quietly beside a microphone in front of us.
Dean sat upright and cheerily beside me. From his mood, it really did seem like he loved games. The man was practically giddy to find out what the game was going to be, and all I wanted to do was melt into a puddle and die noisily.
Dean rolled to the side, giving my shoulder a little bump. “You ready for this?”
“No,” I said.
“That’s alright, partner. I’ll make sure we’re on the same team, and I always win.”
“Don’t care if we win,” I said.
He narrowed his eyes, skepticism plain on his perfect face. “That sounds like something a loser would say. We’ll fix that.”
I was learning not to argue with Dean, so I just waited and tried not to gnaw on my fingernails anymore than I already had. Maybe the game would be something simple like Bingo. We could just sit in the crowd and go unnoticed most of the night. That would be the best case scenario, because I saw Lizzie sitting up front with Jonas Pollard. She turned, saw me, and gave a little wave and a smile.
I smiled back, twinkling my fingers. Dean noticed and put his arm around me, leaning his head into mine like we were posing for a picture. I didn’t need to look at him to know his smile was probably equal parts dazzle and charm, too.
Once Lizzie turned around, I elbowed him in his side, which felt like elbowing a brick wall. “Jesus,” I said, rubbing my elbow. “Ever hear of carrying a little Winter padding? Who are you trying to impress, anyway?” I whispered. “You’re supposed to be off the dating scene.”
Dean smirked. “Maybe I want to impress my Sugar Bottom?”
“Don’t call me that.”
The microphone whined for a second with feedback, then the woman up front put her palm over it, silencing the noise. She gave it a quick, bassy tap and cleared her throat. “Hello Pollard Marketing!!!”
The crowd of nearly fifty gave a few half-hearted whoops and a few people clapped.
“Alright, alright. Great crowd!” She pulled the mic from the stand and walked around the stage, squinting as she seemed to look out at us, searching for something. “I need three couples. Do we have three couples out there? I know this is a work event, so we’ll settle for a couple friends or a couple of cubicle-mates if we have to. What about you two! You look like you two beauties are in love.” She pointed to Lizzie and Jonas, who raised their hands together and cheered as everyone clapped a little more enthusiastically. With the grace of movie stars, they both took the stage, letting the other woman guide them to a spot off to the side. “And you! A happy couple?”
The two she pointed at were explaining they were only friends, but she waved off their complaints and had them come up anyway.
I tried to shrink into my seat. I could see Dean was sitting up straighter. Just as the woman’s eyes came our way, he leaned toward my ear to whisper something and put his arm around me. “We got this,” he said.
“There’s one! You two! Come on up!”
Everybody was looking at us and starting to clap. Dean practically dragged me out of the chair and took me up on stage. My mind was racing. A couple’s game? In front of the entire staff? Things literally couldn’t go worse.
There was one other problem. Even though I’d told Dean I didn’t care about winning whatever the game was, I was a liar. When we had games day during our family reunions growing up, I became a little bit infamous for getting way too competitive and making sure I won everything. The words “cutthroat” and “ruthless” were even tossed around when people thought I wasn’t listening.
Okay, there wasn’t just one other problem. I also had stage fright. Every step we took closer to the stage made my airways feel like they were closing up–an invisible fist tightening around my insides until I was breathing through a coffee straw.
Dean had my hand in his and I was too distracted to pull mine out. Besides, I wasn’t sure if I could’ve made the walk up on my wobbling legs without the support.
Once we were on stage and the woman was explaining the game–some sort of “how well do you know your partner” style trivia game with the addition of a few silly physical games–Dean seemed to notice how I was feeling.