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)
“Goosed,” Marina says with a snort. “I swear, you always have a new name for getting drunk.”
“I have many names for it,” I tell her. “Because that’s what we Brits do best. Speaking of, you need another refill.”
I’m about to reach over and grab her glass but Jane snatches it from her first. “I’ve got this,” she says and then grabs Marina and pulls her along with her.
Now it’s just me and Naomi. Oh, and Brent, a graphic designer at the publishing house who hasn’t said a word the entire time we’ve been here, just standing beside us and staring at Naomi.
Here comes the small talk.
“So what do you think of the cover?” I ask Naomi, holding up a copy of my book and waving it at her. All of us have a copy to take home and even though it’s an advanced review copy and not the final printed version (which I am told will have embossed font), it felt amazing to hold it in my hands for the first time.
But Naomi isn’t looking at the cover. She staring at me, totally unimpressed. Which is her go-to expression, I know.
“What are you doing, Laz?”
“What?” I glance at Brent, hoping to glean some information off him as to what I’m doing but he’s still staring at her with quiet intensity.
“Don’t play dumb,” she says and points her copy of the book at me until the corner of the spine is jabbing me in the chest. “You know what you’re doing.”
“I’m enjoying my book launch?”
“You’re playing with her feelings.”
“What?” I exclaim, a little too loud. Some people look over. Luckily not Jane and Marina who are at the bar and chatting to Abigail.
“Don’t play games.”
I show my palm to her in surrender. “Naomi, I don’t know what you’re talking about. I’m not playing with anyone’s feelings, nor am I playing any games. Not yet, anyway, I did pack a deck of Cards Against Humanity for later.”
She presses her lips together, eyes narrow. “I know the likes of you.”
I flinch. “You do not,” I say sharply. “You don’t know a bloody thing about me.”
“I’ve seen your type,” she says.
“And I’ve seen yours.”
Her eyes flare up like my words have invoked the bowels of Hell. Maybe they have. Both Brent and I take an instinctive step backward.
“And what’s my type?” she asks, challenging me to slip up.
But I won’t.
“Someone who took a chance on love, who never deserved to get screwed over and who did get screwed over. Proving that sometimes even the best intentions and the purest hearts can get fucked over by love.”
She blinks at me and I can tell she wants to say something but doesn’t have the words because I’ve hit the nail on the head.
I go on. Pressing my luck, maybe. “And so now you think all guys are the devil.”
“Not all guys,” she says quickly. “Just guys who play games. I’ve been through all that, pure heart and whatnot, and now I know what to look for.”
“You’re talking about me and Marina, right?”
She rolls her eyes. “Yes.”
“You know we’re just friends, right?”
“No,” she says. “You aren’t. She told me about your dating game.”
“So?”
“So. I told her it was a mistake.”
“Why? We’re both bad at love. Why not fix it?”
“Because she’s not bad at it. She just hasn’t found the right guy yet.”
“And who would the right guy be?”
“Are we talking about the blonde with the big rack?” Brent suddenly says.
We both look at him, look at each other, ignore him.
“The right guy,” Naomi continues, “is someone who knows what he has when he has her. Someone who doesn’t kick her to the curb when things get real.”
“Okay. So what does any of this have to do with me?”
“Because you’re her friend and you’re… taking advantage of her.”
I shake my head, run my hand over my jaw, trying to not lose it on her because she couldn’t be more wrong if she tried. “Why don’t you ask Marina about all of this? I haven’t done a thing.”
She looks over her shoulder at Marina who is now walking over with Jane. She steps closer and pokes the book into my chest again, leaning in close with hard eyes. “Marina is my best friend. She’s yours too. Leave it that way. Please. Because if you fucking hurt her, in anyway, I will cut your dick off.”
“Whoa,” Brent says. “I am out of here.”
“Yeah, whoa,” I say to her. “And what makes you think we’re more than friends?”
She just shakes her head. “I’m not saying anything else. Just open your fucking eyes, will you, Laz?”
“I got you a drink,” Marina says appearing at my side. She holds out a cold beer and I take it from her, trying to smile my gratitude, hoping my hand isn’t shaking. “I figured you were tired of champagne.”