Total pages in book: 69
Estimated words: 65712 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 329(@200wpm)___ 263(@250wpm)___ 219(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 65712 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 329(@200wpm)___ 263(@250wpm)___ 219(@300wpm)
I wonder what Boyd meant about me owing him a favor. I wonder if he meant anything by it? I wonder what I want him to mean. I stuff my hands into my pockets as I walk. Like, what if he meant a sexual favor? No, that’s stupid. Stupid. As if he’d need a sexual favor from me. He probably meant a favor like helping him move. I wrinkle my nose and step around a couple arguing in the middle of the sidewalk. Or maybe a favor like a ride to the airport. That’s probably what he meant. I can’t really picture him sitting in the passenger seat of my Toyota Corolla though, even for a free ride to the airport.
I roll my eyes at myself as I walk. I’m sure he meant nothing by it. It’s just a stupid saying. It does not, in any way, imply that he was thinking dirty thoughts about me. As if he would look twice at me anyway. I’m cute enough, I suppose. But that’s the thing. I’m cute. I get freckles in the summer. I wear leggings and I’m happy with my hair in a ponytail. He seems like he’d appreciate someone a little more… polished than me. Plus, he’s older. I seem to recall that he’s ten years older than Sophie, which would make him thirty-two and way more experienced than me. Forget about it. But maybe I should increase my age limit on the dating app I’m using. I think I have it capped at twenty-eight. Maybe I should raise it because I think thirty-two-year-olds might be my thing. You know, as long as they have badges and look like Boyd.
I blow out a breath and tap my foot on the pavement while I wait for the light to change so I can cross 15th Street. What would I even do with a guy like Boyd? He’s probably into crazy shit like having sex with the lights on. It’s just… I swear I felt something when we met. The moment he walked into the room on Sunday the energy changed. Granted I was about to be questioned by the FBI, so that might have had something to do with the energy in the room, but I don’t know. The problem with chemistry is that it’s not always reciprocated. Sometimes one person is picturing Hollywood-worthy wall sex and the other person is thinking about what they should pick up for dinner on the way home from work.
It’s likely it will be months before I see him again anyway, owed favor or not. I managed to go almost a year without meeting him the first time. He met Sophie for the first time last fall after discovering she was his half-sister, and Everly’s crossed paths with him, but I hadn’t until Sunday. So there’s no reason I will again. Just put him out of your head, Chloe. He’s way too much for you anyway. Everly would know what to do with a guy like that. Me, not so much.
I make it to the Starbucks on Broad with a little under ten minutes to spare, so I get in line to order. I like to avoid the awkward who-is-going-to-pay shuffle at the counter and scope out a good table and I’ve got just enough time to do both. I order the seasonal pumpkin spice latte in decaf then nab an empty two-seat table with a good view of the door so I can keep an eye out for Joe. He arrives a couple of minutes later and scans the cafe for me and when his gaze lands on me I confirm with a small wave. He nods with a small smile and heads my way.
“Can I get anything else for you?” he asks, nodding at the cup in my hands as he removes his coat and places it over the back of the chair across from mine.
“No, thank you. I’m good with this,” I say, lifting the paper cup an inch off the table. “Go grab something for yourself,” I tell him with a smile. Luckily there’s no line so he’s back shortly, drink in hand.
“So, Chloe, it’s nice to meet you,” he says as he takes a seat.
“You as well,” I return. “Thanks for meeting me here.”
“No problem. I live in the Washington Square area so this wasn’t too far for me.” He takes a sip from his cup then continues when I don’t say anything. “I’ve enjoyed chatting with you online. I’m glad we were finally able to meet.”
“I’m just happy you match your photos,” I say, then try not to visibly cringe. What a stupid thing to say. He’s really cute. And nice. And I’m my usual nervous awkward self. But he just laughs like it’s no big deal.
“Were you worried I was a forty-year-old guy using old photos?” he asks with a wide smile, clearly trying to put me at ease.