Total pages in book: 58
Estimated words: 57139 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 286(@200wpm)___ 229(@250wpm)___ 190(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 57139 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 286(@200wpm)___ 229(@250wpm)___ 190(@300wpm)
She looked away first and stared into her champagne glass. Her very empty champagne glass. Yes, because there were answers along with life’s secrets in the pulp of that mimosa. I knew what she was about though, she was letting me breathe after nearly freezing from our shared look just a few seconds ago. After a moment, she turned to her next victim; Harper. “What? I’m just proud you’re getting it done. A show, an apartment, men lined up—Harper, you’re thriving. In my day, all I had was bingo and the mailman.”
I choked on my next sip of coffee.
Her eyes flicked back to me. Shit. I gained her attention again by showing weakness. They were keen, sharp those blue eyes. She arched a drawn on eyebrow and lowered her chin, leaning in and whispering. “And what about you, young man? You planning on stepping in, or just loitering around my granddaughter forever?”
I swallowed hard, set down my cup as calmly as possible and spoke. “If I told you something, would you keep it quiet?” I quickly glanced around the table, making sure our conversation was under the radar.
Grandma leaned back, smug. “Sweetheart, I’ve kept bigger secrets than Watergate. My lips are sealed.”
I stared at her, jaw flexed and stalled in an effort to hold back the words. It took me maybe five seconds to crumble. Five seconds before I finally muttered. “Then…maybe I’ve already stepped in.”
Grandma’s smile was slow and knowing. “Good. About damn time. Now that glass won’t fill itself.”
By the time we were leaving, Harper turned to me with her best begging face. “Please. Maybe this guy’s not going to be so bad. Just… please come with me on this date tonight? I don’t want to be alone. Please? Please!”
I exhaled, the earlier thought of the cinnamon rolls and the dress coming back into the forefront of my mind.
“I’ll read your favorite dirty book out loud.”
I cursed under my breath. Who was I kidding, I couldn’t stay away. Might as well get something else out of it. “iOS for Dummies it is.”
I should have lied.
I should have pretended my phone battery died and suffered a long death, or that I was in a medically induced coma after getting choked out by her dad during brunch.
Instead, I agreed to torture. Sounds fun. Sign me up. When would I ever learn?
So a few short hours later, I wandered into a college dive bar in the U district—wedged between two undergrads who kept glancing over at me like I’d wandered into the wrong place, wrong time, wearing the wrong outfit.
Because what kind of thirty-something date took place here? The music was too loud. The drinks were mid, and the food was so overpriced it was criminal. I pulled out my phone and reviewed the guy’s details. He’d claimed he’d “turned over a new leaf.” I called bullshit.
Last I knew, he was peddling Herbalife with the enthusiasm of a man selling seats to heaven. No shade if that’s your jam, but his whole pitch to me had been “financial freedom” and “boss babe energy,” which sounded like the starter pack for bankruptcy.
He couldn’t have changed that much, right? And, more importantly, had he aged like fine wine—or like whatever grows on cheese when you forget it in the back of the fridge? I prayed for a forgotten Gouda, I really did.
The only thing Harper had ever liked about him was that he was a good kisser. Which, in my experience, was not enough to balance the whole narcissist who talks about himself 90% of the time thing.
I was about to order another water when Harper walked in.
On time.
In the dress.
The dress I’d helped her basically tape to her body, my palms grazing her breasts more than once while she accused me of being a pervert and I accused her of being a masochist for wearing it. Why did I have to know exactly how smooth it felt beneath my fingertips?
I exhaled too hard like I’d just finished an expedition in the Artic or a climb up Kilimanjaro, or in my case a very exhausting walk into a high-end bar of Gen Zers. Their aura alone was exhausting.
“Hey,” the girl next to me whispered loudly. “Are you okay?”
“Huh?” I nearly knocked over my glass in shock she was even speaking to the elderly. “Yeah? Why?”
“You keep… breathing really hard and staring at the door. It’s okay. I get freaked out in big spaces too. Sometimes it helps to count sheep.”
I blinked at her. “Isn’t that for sleeping?”
She frowned. “Is that why it’s never worked?”
I stared. “You serious?”
She nodded solemnly, then crossed her legs in the tightest, shortest red skirt I’d ever seen. Definitely concert or Tinder attire. Possibly illegal.
I waved my phone like a peace flag and barrier between us. “Just waiting for someone.”