Total pages in book: 114
Estimated words: 111165 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 556(@200wpm)___ 445(@250wpm)___ 371(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 111165 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 556(@200wpm)___ 445(@250wpm)___ 371(@300wpm)
But while Jane works her way through the crowd to come and say hello, I’m watching Laz, the girls in front of him parting like Moses parting the Red Sea.
“I’m so glad you came,” Jane squeals, even though she’s not the squealing type. “God, I hope the sound was okay? It wasn’t shit, was it? It’s so hard to tell from up there.”
“You were amazing,” I tell her, my eyes going to Laz who has stopped just behind her. “Both of you.”
“So, I see you all know each other,” Jane says, looking between the three of us. “That should cancel out any awkward introductions.”
“You should have seen the awkward introduction we had before you played,” I tell her. Laz raises his brows at that but I plow on, “Anyway, you were both awesome. Band is awesome. Sound was…loud. I’m glad we came.”
“Yes, totally,” Naomi adds. “But we really shouldn’t stay out so late. You have work in the morning, Marina, remember?” She’s giving me the let’s go look.
“You’re not going anywhere. I promised I would buy you both a drink,” Laz says. “What you havin’?”
I try not to smile as I look at Naomi, silently pleading for her to stay.
She sighs, giving me a dirty look before she says to Laz. “A beer. Cold.”
“Not very picky,” he says. “I like that. And you, blondie?”
My smile widens. I’ve heard that nickname a million times before but with his accent, it’s to die for. “Anything.”
He cocks his head, considering that before looking inquisitively at Jane. “Drink?”
“Vodka soda,” she says to him, and as soon as he walks off to the bar, her attention is on me, one brow raised.
“What?”
“You know he’s my brother, right?” Jane says.
“Yeah, we got that part,” I tell her, hoping she’s not going where I think she’s going with this.
“So…” Naomi adds.
“So, I’m just saying, don’t get any ideas.”
“What, about Laz?” Naomi says, looking disgusted. “He smokes, Jane. You know I can’t stand that.”
“He’s in the process of quitting,” she says. “But I was talking to Marina here with her googly eyes.”
“Googly eyes?” I repeat, but I’m blushing. “Oh, come on.”
“I know he seems like your type,” she goes on, totally ignoring me. “And I think you guys would get along well. You’ve both got a lot in common and you’re kind of…well…odd. But—”
“Jane,” I interrupt her, trying not to be bothered by the odd thing. Actually, I’m more intrigued now that she called him odd. Like he’s more attainable now. “You’re jumping to conclusions. I just met him. He seems nice. And yeah, he’s cute, but he’s your stepbrother. That shouldn’t gross you out.”
“Oh, but it does,” she says, making a face. She looks over the crowd at him as he gives cash to the bartender. “And anyway, I’m not saying this because I’m protective of him. I’m protective of you.”
“Why?” I ask. “What’s wrong with him?”
She rolls her eyes as if to ask, what isn’t?
Then he’s back beside us, holding out three drinks with perfect balance.
“Here we are,” he says as everyone takes their drink from him. “Blonde ale for the blondie,” he says to me, handing me the beer.
“Thank you,” I tell him, hyperaware now of the way I’m acting around him.
“Where’s your drink?” Jane asks him.
“I’m driving home after,” he says.
“Where’s Shannon?”
Who is Shannon?
Laz gives her a sheepish smile. “No Shannon. It’s Vanessa.”
Who is Vanessa?
“What happened to Shannon?”
He gives a slight shake of his head and covers his smile with his beer. “Shannon was months ago.”
“Shannon was at the last show. Two weeks ago. And you were together then.”
He shrugs and gives me a mock apologetic look. “You’ll have to excuse my sister here, she lives to give me a hard time.”
“Only because you deserve it,” she says, but she’s smiling, so apparently this is just good old-fashioned sibling ribbing. Which is cute and all, but I can’t help focusing on the fact that Laz has a girlfriend. Named Shannon. Or Vanessa.
And of course he does. I mean, look at him. He’s dressed like a rock star, has great hair, devious dark eyes, and I’ve seen a flash of a tongue ring. He’s tall, over six feet, and he’s got some mad thick arms and pecs that are straining against his T-shirt. He’s the real fucking deal.
Story of my life. I’m picky when it comes to guys, meaning it’s so damn rare that I feel a spark of any sort. Naturally, it has to happen with someone I can’t have, let alone a friend’s brother.
“There she is now,” Laz says, waving at someone near the door.
I crane my neck to look and see a pretty brunette waving shyly back at him. She’s definitely got a sweet face, but she’s by no means thin. Not that there’s anything wrong with that—I’m on a cleanse every other week to drop my freshman forty—but for some reason I expected a tall supermodel.