Total pages in book: 88
Estimated words: 84676 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 423(@200wpm)___ 339(@250wpm)___ 282(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 84676 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 423(@200wpm)___ 339(@250wpm)___ 282(@300wpm)
His eyes slice to mine. “I only ever want you to call me Leo.”
We talk as if we’re on a stopwatch and we have to learn everything about each other before Midnight or the spell floating between us will be broken.
“I have to go to the restroom,” I say eventually. I’ve been trying to avoid it for as long as possible, but I do not want to pee myself in front of this guy. I like him. I can’t remember ever feeling chemistry with a guy like I do with this one after just an hour or two getting to know them. Maybe I need a beat. I need to take a step back and see if I still like him after a five-minute time-out.
“Really?” he asks. “Shall I wait here? Or are you just being polite and you’re actually trying to get rid of me.”
I laugh. “Really.” I need a minute, but there’s something about this chemistry—about this potential destiny—that I want to come back to.
“Okay. Well, I’m only going to wait here in this exact spot for about four or five hours. So don’t take too long.”
I laugh again and head to the restroom. In line, I’m behind a guy who barely looks twelve. I know that he’s trying to figure out who I’m supposed to be. He keeps glancing at me, and I fiddle with my belt to give him a clue, which he clearly doesn’t decipher. Not like Leo Hart.
It takes me about ten minutes to get back to the spot where Leo and I were exploring our potential destiny. But he’s nowhere to be seen.
Damn.
I mean, of course he was joking about waiting for me for five or six hours, but I was hoping for ten minutes.
Part of me wonders if he took the opportunity to get another drink. Or if he went to use another restroom. I try and subtly glance around to see if I can spot him. It’s difficult for me to do anything without attracting attention. I spot Sophia in the corner with some guy. They look like they’re about to kiss, so I guess if that’s not the guy from work, she’s still having a great time.
And then I see Leo. He’s laughing, and I can’t help but smile. I glance at who he’s talking to. It’s a beautiful brunette woman—more Jean Grey than Mystique. She looks polished, with a slick bob and a red lip. She’s the type of woman who, even if I’d come as myself tonight, would still make me feel like a blue mutant.
He says something to her. She nods, and then he hands her his phone and she begins to type.
My stomach lurches. It’s like our conversation, which felt so light and exciting, has turned to lead inside me.
I’m an idiot.
Leo Hart is just some guy at a party trying to get laid by talking about destiny. And I fell for it. I bet he gets a dozen numbers tonight. He’s probably the type of guy who doesn’t need to commit to a lease because he’s in a different woman’s bed every night.
He’s exactly the kind of guy I’m absolutely determined won’t be part of my destiny.
I interrupt Sophia almost dry-humping her co-worker and tell her I’m not feeling well. She offers to leave with me, but I’d rather be alone. I need to go home and scrub off my blue skin and send it down the drain, together with any memories of my conversation with Leo Hart.
I’m done. Men always disappoint me, yet I still keep hoping one of them is going to be different. Tonight, I learned my lesson.
Again.
As I head for the door, I promise myself it will be the last time.
TWO YEARS LATER
ONE
Leo
I’m laughing so hard I almost miss the call I’ve been waiting for since I started my career. I don’t recognize the number, but something makes me swipe accept. I push my seat out from the table where I’ve been sitting with my five best friends.
“Just gotta take this,” I say as they ignore me. I step away but don’t leave the private room Worth has arranged for tonight’s dinner.
“Leo Hart,” I say as a pretty waitress enters carrying some of our appetizers. She’s cute. Blonde. Short. Full red lips and a nice arse. I make a mental note to find her later and see if she wants to get a late-night drink, and by drink, I mean come back to my place and get naked.
“It’s Jonathan from Property International,” the caller on the other end of the phone says. Property International is a trade journal for people in the real estate business, and Jonathan is the longtime editor. They’ve done some interviews with me, but I’m not expecting a call from them.
“Hey, Jonathan,” I say, flashing a smile at the waitress. She smiles back and the glint in her eye tells me I know what—or rather, who—I’ll be doing later. “It’s been a while. How’s things?”