Total pages in book: 235
Estimated words: 224334 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 1122(@200wpm)___ 897(@250wpm)___ 748(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 224334 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 1122(@200wpm)___ 897(@250wpm)___ 748(@300wpm)
“Don’t ever let Kate hear you call her bird.” I laugh to myself as I plunge my finger into the jar of peanut butter. He’s such a knobhead. “So she likes you but she didn’t call a halt on it, and neither did you?” And neither did Drew?
“No, and you know why, don’t you?”
“No, Sam, I don’t. This whole fucking situation is burning my brain, if you want the truth.”
“She didn’t stop it because she’s stubborn.”
I raise my brows to myself. “And why didn’t you stop it?”
“Oh, fuck off.” He hangs up on me, and I flinch, insulted.
“Charming,” I mutter, pulling up Drew’s number, worried this might cause a problem between my mates. Why the fuck didn’t Drew put a stop to it? He’s a knobhead too. He answers, sounding tired and groggy. “Where are you?” I ask.
There’s a brief silence, and I know it’s because he’s currently looking around trying to figure that out for himself. “What the fuck are you doing calling me at this time?”
“Why the fuck didn’t you stop it?” I counter, and then inhale. “Oh my God, you couldn’t, could you?” This is bad news. “Because you were enjoying it.”
“Chill out, Judge Judy. I thought one of those two idiots were going to stop it.”
“And then suddenly your pierced dick was in Kate?”
Drew laughs. “Ever seen Sam look like he wants to kill someone?”
“No.”
“It’s priceless.”
“You’re fucked up.”
“Whatever. I had a nice time and now hopefully those two will admit what we all know.”
“Sam already did.”
“Well, my work here is done.”
“That’s my line.”
“God, you’re being a bitch today.”
“Fuck you. Things won’t be weird, will they?”
“No, they won’t be weird. Kate’s cool, but she’s not my cup of tea.”
Now there’s the million-dollar question. “What’s your cup of tea?”
“Gagged and heartless.” He hangs up, leaving me shaking my head to myself, and my phone is quickly ringing again.
Fuck me, here I was thinking of having a nice, quiet weekend. “John?”
“I brought Ava’s car over.”
“I didn’t ask you to.”
“I brought Ava’s car over,” he repeats, sterner, lower, moodier.
I frown down the line. “Thanks.”
“Open the motherfucking door, you stupid motherfucker.”
I get up and go to the door, swinging it open, my phone still at my ear, finding John on the other side. He tosses the keys at me, and I catch them. “This feels like an intervention.”
He looks past me, searching for Ava no doubt. Or for the signs of something on her finger. “You did it, didn’t you?”
I press my lips together, not prepared to rat myself out. I can keep Ava away from The Manor for the next few days. Tell John I’ve met her parents. I can’t imagine Ava will be rushing to share the details of my memorable proposal. “Did what?”
He takes off his glasses and looks at me. Really looks at me. “You can’t lie to me.”
Fuck, he’s right. Never could. “How the fuck did you know?”
“Because I woke up this morning and had this funny feeling in my gut that you’d done something stupid.” He turns and walks away. “And my gut when it comes to you is always right.”
“What does your gut say about me marrying Ava?” I call after him.
“You’re a first-class, professional cunt, Jesse.”
I recoil. “John?” I say, wounded, but he flaps a hand irritably, dismissing me, and carries on his way, getting in the elevator. And he doesn’t look up as the doors close.
Cunt? Definitely prefer motherfucker.
I shut the door and lean against it, sighing, trying not to think about the fact that John is always right. And back down the pan goes my mood as I trudge to the kitchen and toss Ava’s keys on the side.
I settle at the computer and stare at the blank screen for a few moments. Then wake it up and type something into the search bar, scrolling through the results. And every place I click on tells me it’s not available until next year. Some even the year after. “Fuck me,” I breathe. At this rate, I’ll be drawing my pension before I get my girl down the aisle, and that won’t do.
Make it official.
Get on with life.
“Here, I forgot to give you these.”
I look up from my peanut butter and find Ava holding out some post. “You open them,” I say, and she frowns, thrusting them forward, obviously not comfortable with that. Damn it. She’s leading by example. Teaching me some manners. I take the envelopes and toss them aside, going back to my screen, frowning. Churches, manor houses, town halls. Where do I even start?
“My car’s back?”
“John dropped it off.” And joined Van Der Haus in ruining my morning. “Are you religious?”
A small hesitation, and for a second I’m worried she’ll hit me with the news that her parents—whom I am yet to meet—are church goers. “No,” she eventually says.
“Me neither.” That’s helpful. The churches seem to be the busiest, and I doubt I’d be accepted into the house of God anyway. “Do you have any preference on dates?”