Total pages in book: 94
Estimated words: 94579 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 473(@200wpm)___ 378(@250wpm)___ 315(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 94579 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 473(@200wpm)___ 378(@250wpm)___ 315(@300wpm)
disappointed.
He’s wearing a hat tonight, too—black knit, in a style similar to mine—pulled down over his ears and short, shorn hair.
Rowdy is masculine, even with that winter hat on his head. He gives me a gentle bump with his shoulder when I reach the top of the porch.
“Where did you find that hat?” I ask, setting my tote bag on the ground, same as I did last Friday, and same as I’ll probably do next Friday.
“Bought it.”
“When?”
He’s still for a few heartbeats. “Yesterday.”
“We kind of match,” I point out, poking the air with my mitten, tilting my head to study him.
He shifts on his heels. “I’m surprised you showed up again. You’re like a puppy dog that keeps getting kicked but comes back for more.”
“That is an appalling analogy.”
“But accurate,” he counters.
“Be honest—you’re not one bit surprised to see me here.” You bought a hat so you’d be warm, too.
My heart skips a few rhythms, hands go to my hips, sinking into my puffy coat. I wave my mitten around. “You should know by now I can’t resist a challenge.”
He leans against the house, a cocky lift to his lips. “You consider me a challenge?”
“No, I consider getting inside the house a challenge.”
“Is that the only reason you keep coming back?”
It’s cold, and we’re both breathing hard, our breaths mingling in gray swirls, shoulders knocking every few footsteps.
“What other reason would I have?”
I hold my breath, waiting for him to reply.
When he doesn’t, I make a little humming sound, aware that each beat of my traitorous heart is pounding in my chest, my throat.
“I’m not a mind reader, Scarlett—if there’s another reason you come here every Friday night, you’ll have to spell it out for me.”
We size each other up, like two gunslingers reaching for their six-shooters, neither willing to bend. I don’t know what he wants me to say, and I refuse to be the first one to admit to…whatever this is I’m feeling.
It’s way too soon.
It’s strangely silent then, the stereo momentarily cutting off inside the house. Voices die down. The indelicate sound of Rowdy’s snarling stomach breaks the spell of our stare-down.
Seriously, does this guy not eat enough during dinner?
“You know what I have for you?”
“There are about five different ways I could answer that.” He eyes my bag. “But please tell me you brought food.”
If I was a peacock, I’d be fluffing my brilliant feathers about now with what I’m about to present to him.
“Not only did I bring food, I brought the good stuff.” I unzip my tote, glancing up at him coyly. “Any guesses?”
“Spaghetti and meatballs?”
I glare at him. “Are you trying to make me gag?”
“I get delirious when I’m hungry—you already know this.”
“When aren’t you hungry?”
“Never not hungry, but I’m not always hungry for food.”
Startled, my mouth falls open and I gape at him like a fool;
it’s the first innuendo he’s made toward me, and I hardly know what to do with it.
“O-Out of curiosity,” I stammer, “are you planning on waiting outside for me every Friday?”
“Only until you can come inside that house.”
“And when will that be?”
He shrugs. “Don’t know.”
“Hmm.” I finger the plastic utensils inside my bag. “What if I decide not to come? How long would you be willing to wait for me to show up?”
“Five minutes.”
“Liar. Try again or I’m not showing you what’s in here.”
“I don’t know, Scarlett—eight minutes.”
My brows rise doubtfully at how specific the time is, and he rolls those big, beautiful green eyes at me.
“Fine. I’d wait an hour.” Pause. “Maybe a little longer if I knew for sure you were going to show up.”
He’d wait an hour for me? That’s an eternity in college guy years.
Satisfied, I dig out two white cardboard containers of Chinese takeout, still piping hot, fresh from the joint down the road. I had it delivered right before leaving the house, the rice and chicken and noodles heating my hip on the walk over.
If Tessa or Cameron noticed the smell, neither of them mentioned it.
Rowdy’s eyes damn near bug out of his skull he’s so excited.
“You have got to be shitting me. Are you serious? Scarlett, you’re fucking awesome.”
I blush beneath my winter jacket, smiling inside the collar, yet I hold the carton of Asian noodles hostage, out of his reach. “You can have this when you tell me how you knew I’d be here tonight.”
He’s desperate, so he folds like a house of cards in a soft breeze. “I sat next to the window like a damn dog waiting for its owner to come home. Now gimme.”
I removed my mittens before digging in my bag of tricks, so our fingers touch when I hand him the food, eyes locking before I pull away, brushing away an invisible lock of hair against my cheek.
“Staring out the window like a goddamn puppy.” He shoves a forkful into his mouth, grumbling.