Total pages in book: 103
Estimated words: 100523 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 503(@200wpm)___ 402(@250wpm)___ 335(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 100523 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 503(@200wpm)___ 402(@250wpm)___ 335(@300wpm)
She laughs and pats his shoulder. “Good to see you again too.”
Ah, I get it now. She doesn’t mind her friends or my friends knowing because…we’re just friends who are fucking. Because there’s nothing more to this. Because she’s probably not up in her head, thinking about how nice it is to have a cup of coffee with me in the morning.
As Monroe strides up to the counter, I give him a chin nod in greeting. “The usual?”
“Yes, please.”
As Rachel grabs the bouquet of wildflowers from the glass of water where she left them, Monroe parks himself on the stool and then turns to study Rachel. From the crease on his brow, something is ticking in that brain of his. “You two would make a really interesting case study for this new podcast I’m launching.”
Rachel arches a brow as she waits by the door. “You’re doing a podcast?”
Monroe has told me about it, but not many others. I wait for him to explain.
“It launches in a couple of weeks. ‘The Matchmakers and The Heartbreakers.’ It’s about every stage of relationships, from cradle to grave. This whole how-to-date thing you’re doing would be fascinating. Do you two want to come on and talk about it?”
She tilts her head, curious but clearly skeptical. “What exactly do you want us to discuss?”
Monroe’s mind is a locomotive, and his answer is instantaneous. “What you learned during your five dates. Everyone wants to hear about the rules of dating because they’re constantly changing. You’re exploring them in an almost scientific way.”
“So, we’re a science experiment?” she asks, but her smile says she’s clearly amused. It’s her friendly smile.
“Yes.”
She looks to me. “Do you want to, Carter?”
No reason not to help a friend. “I’m in.”
“Me too, then,” she says, but then she lifts a finger, staring sternly at Monroe. “But we’re not going to talk about your that tracks comment.”
He nods, resolute. “Fair enough.”
When she shifts her gaze to me, her expression softens. Does she even realize how she’s looking at me? What it’s doing to me? “Bye,” she says, quiet and personal.
There’s a moment when I almost think she’ll come over and give me a goodbye kiss to match her tone, her look.
But she doesn’t. Maybe because Monroe’s here. Or maybe because that’s beyond girlfriend lessons.
“See ya,” I say, in my most casual voice. The one that masks the thrumming in my heart.
“Bye, Rachel,” Monroe adds, his eyes drifting to the flowers.
When she’s gone, I shake off the buzzy feeling once more as I hand my friend the espresso. He takes it with a thanks, then says bluntly, “So you’re pretending you’re just friends?”
Of course he’d ask. Of course I’ll be honest. “We are just friends.”
“Friends who are sleeping together?” He asks like it’s a follow-up, “just to clarify” question posed to a patient.
“We won’t be the first. And we’re not going to let it ruin the friendship,” I say, determined. Then, I take a drink before I say anything else. Because I’m treading on dangerous ground now.
Monroe nods and takes another long swallow. “But has that ever worked in the history of ever?”
It’s a legit question asked with genuine concern. But I don’t know that I want to ponder it too hard. “I haven’t studied relationships. Why don’t you tell me, doc?” I counter, as my guard rails go up.
“Look, you don’t have to be honest with me,” he says, then gives me a serious stare. “But you bought her flowers. So I need to ask—are you being honest with yourself?”
I don’t gulp. I don’t blanch. I keep on my best poker face as I say, “Yes.”
“Good. That’s key,” he says, believing me.
When he leaves a little later, though, I turn his question over a few more times while I wipe down the espresso machine.
The more time I spend with Rachel like this, the more I realize it’s stirring up wishes and wants that have been part of me for a long time.
Probably years.
These nights and mornings are making me look back on all the other moments when she fell asleep in my house.
Like when she woke up and made me cinnamon pancakes.
If I’m being honest with myself—like Monroe challenged me to be—I’m pretty sure that once upon a time, I wanted those cinnamon pancakes to turn into something more.
What would’ve happened years ago if I’d confessed my uneasy feelings about Edward? Would she have called off the wedding? Would she have knocked on my door and asked me to kiss her like crazy and show her how it feels when a man wants her?
I’d have shown her and meant it then too.
Maybe I’d have had a chance to take her out before I met Sasha, Izzy, or Quinn. Before I became this jaded guy who doesn’t believe romance works out.
When I set down the washcloth and finish my half-drunk cup of espresso, it’s chased with regret.