Total pages in book: 104
Estimated words: 99675 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 498(@200wpm)___ 399(@250wpm)___ 332(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 99675 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 498(@200wpm)___ 399(@250wpm)___ 332(@300wpm)
I immediately get a clear picture of Ethan at a fancy shmancy dinner with some long legged model. Then the whole picture turns red, my ears glowing with the evidence of my irrational fury. I say irrational because, let’s face it, he’s not mine. I have zero business feeling possessive, or jealous, or slightly heartbroken about this. Fine, more than slightly. What did I expect? It’s not like he’s a monk. He didn’t take a vow of celibacy. Even though I wish he had.
“Because he’s not a monk!”
“’Scuse me?”
“Never mind. We haven’t finished with you yet. Every girl needs a grand gesture.”
“She’s in med school. She doesn’t want to see me.”
“So that’s it? You’re just––giving up?”
“She said to let her be.” Then he sighs…sighs like a little bitch.
Utter disgust takes over my face. “Justin––”
“Yeah.”
“I want you to pull down your pants.” Justin draws the beer bottle away from his lips and looks over at me, confusion marring his movie star good looks. “Stick your hand between your legs and check to see if you’re still in possession of your GODFORSAKEN chestnuts. I’ve listened to you cry about this girl for six months. Six months of whining! If she’s so special, you go down there and fight for her.”
“You’re right,” he says, slow nodding. “You’re right.”
“Are you a man, or mouse?!”
“I’m a man! I’m a man, dang it!” he shouts, slamming a large fist on the bar.
“Hey, man,” interrupts the crusty bartender. “Time to pay the bill. We closin’ in ten.”
Instantly subdued, Justin flips open his wallet and fishes out his credit card. “Yes, sir.”
Time to head home and face the piper. Or is it pay the piper? Fuck, I’m drunk. Time to go home.
With Justin’s arm hooked around my neck, we amble down the street until we reach the townhouse. Standing at the bottom of the stairs, he leans closer and I catch a strange twinkle in his eyes. “Wanna mess around?” After this beauty, he waggles his eyebrows.
“No.” I chuckle. I know it’s cold because I can see my breath. I can’t , however, feel much thanks to large consumption of a controlled substance. Head shaking, I swat him away. “That ship sailed.”
“Am I ever going to live that down?”
“Yes. But that doesn’t mean I’m going to sleep with you.”
The front door rips open and Ethan walks out, onto the front steps. His shirtsleeves are rolled up and his jacket and tie are gone. The stormy look on his face both confuses and amuses me.
“Woopsey. I think I broke curfew,” I whisper a little too loudly. Okay, maybe it’s closer to a shout.
“Harper, do I have to get you a cab?” Ethan snaps.
“Nah, dude. I’ve got a car waiting.” Justin motions to the Uber Black idling at the curb.
Ethan crosses his arms. He has yet to take his eyes off of me. “Good. Get in it.”
My eyebrows scramble up to my hairline. “Big Papa izzz mad.” Now I’m definitely shouting. Justin takes one look at me and we both break out in drunken giggles.
“Get in the car, Justin.”
After giving Ethan a slow two finger salute, Justin takes my hand and plants a kiss on the back of it. Then he turns and lopes to the car.
“Thanks for the drinks and the company, Dimples.” I blow my buddy an exaggerated kiss and he catches it in the air.
“My pleasure, Darlin’.”
Once alone, Ethan and I spend a good two minutes––that feel surprisingly like an eternity––playing the staring game. He wins. I trudge up the front steps and past Big Papa as his intense, reproachful gaze tracks every move I make.
“You’re drunk.”
“Brilliant observation, counselor. What tipped you off?” I walk a semi straight line to the kitchen with Ethan right on my unsteady heels.
“How much did you have to drink?”
I open the fridge and grab a bottle of water. “Enough to get me good and druuunk.” I sound churlish. I know I do, but I’m just too shitfaced and hurt to care. “Did you have a nice date?”
The silence weighs as heavy as a metric ton of snow. In simpler terms, it’s heavy. And goes on, and on, and on. Doubt pierces the fog of alcohol. Ugh, I may have given myself away. Turning to assess the damage, I find him wearing a decidedly uncomfortable expression.
Oh boy, he knows. He knows that I may be carrying a teenie tiny torch for him, and he’s trying to find a way to let me down gently.
“What?” I snap, the alcohol wreaking havoc with my impulse control––the little I actually possess, that is.
“Nothing, it’s that––” His jaw pulses with tension.
This is going to be bad. I can tell. Placing the water down on the island, I grip the edge of the granite counter and hang my head in defeat.
“Just say it. The suspense is killing me.” I can’t look at him when he cuts my heart out.