Total pages in book: 91
Estimated words: 83800 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 419(@200wpm)___ 335(@250wpm)___ 279(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 83800 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 419(@200wpm)___ 335(@250wpm)___ 279(@300wpm)
Last night was fun, but I can't recall an evening in recent history when I spent time with a man who didn't at least flirt with me. I'm not a very firm believer in men and women having a platonic-only relationship. Someone always looks twice. There's always some wonder about what if and maybe, especially with how casual sex has become.
Robert watched me. He was quick to smile and laugh and joke. He didn't throw a fit or get an attitude when his declaration of being horrible at darts came true.
I didn't see a single red flag. Although part of my mind was trying to convince me that that in itself is a red flag, I never once imagined that he wasn't being genuine.
But he didn't lean in close or try to brush my hand. He didn't step up behind me to give me pointers when my dart stuck in the wall instead of the board.
It was friendly, even chaste, and I went to bed internalizing what was wrong with me, that he didn't act like other men.
And that's a whole other bag of worms I didn't want to consider. I know my worth isn't wrapped up in how a man feels about me, but it left me tossing and turning all night and annoyed that he was so kind.
I'm not really a hand-necklace kind of girl, but his restraint and courtesy made me imagine that he snapped shortly after he walked me to my room last night. I pictured him coming back, banging on my door, and reaching out and gripping my throat as he unleashed a fury of commands on my body.
"What's that face for?" Kaylee asks as she turns away to make a pot of coffee.
"Just annoyed," I mutter, wanting to keep my feelings of failure to myself but also wanting someone to talk to about it as well. "Why are men so fucking clueless?"
Motion across the room draws my attention, and I see Ellis standing several feet away. He glances from Kaylee to me and then back to Kaylee.
"This is girl shit," he says, hands by his ears as if my last sentence is holding him at gunpoint.
Kaylee chuckles when he spins around and walks away.
"Coward," I mutter but feel relieved that I'm not going to have this conversation with someone else present.
Kaylee is tapping her fingers on the counter, waiting for the coffee carafe to have enough coffee in it to pour herself a cup.
"I don't think he's interested in me at all," I confess, feeling more than a little vulnerable.
Kaylee turns to face me.
"I don't think that's true," she says. "He watched you all damn night. Ellis and I had bets on how long he was going to take before he approached you."
Confusion makes me scowl.
"I spent the entire evening with him. What are you talking about?"
Her eyebrows shoot up almost to her hairline. "Aren't you talking about Twisted?"
I want to pull my hair out. I know the guy has some sort of crush on me or something, but other than being nice to him, I haven't done anything to encourage him.
He was very kind the night of the party, helping me to the SUV, talking calmly and assuring me I was safe, but past that, there's nothing. Of course, he's good-looking, but being around handsome men isn't new for me. I'm not going to jump up and down and clap like a giddy schoolgirl because some handsome man watches me from across the room.
"You're talking about Rooster?"
"Robert," I correct, watching her face transform into worry and concern before she turns it back to something a little more passive.
"What?" I snap, rolling my lips between my teeth in an attempt to get my irritation under control. "Sorry."
"Is this concern why you're all out of sorts this morning?"
"It might be," I say, trying my best not to give it more power than it already has.
It's absolutely ridiculous that the idea of a guy not finding me attractive or showing any interest in me makes me want to pull my hair out and break things. And if I dig deep enough, I'm certain the urge to do all that in the first place is some kind of giant red flag for any therapist.
She holds her breath as she watches me. I can already tell by the way her face transforms that she's going to say something I don't like, but leave it up to my best friend to be brutally honest, even when it's the last thing I want.
"I get that you like to have fun, and men are sort of disposable for you—"
"Wow," I mutter.
"But this," she says, continuing as she swirls her finger to indicate the house. "Is not the place for you to pit one man against the other. These men—"
"What? That's not... I don't do that."