Total pages in book: 80
Estimated words: 78108 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 391(@200wpm)___ 312(@250wpm)___ 260(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 78108 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 391(@200wpm)___ 312(@250wpm)___ 260(@300wpm)
But thankfully, he shakes his head. “Just here for the day, then I’ll be back. I have meetings in the city tomorrow.”
“Business is good?” Monroe asks, inscrutable again. Is this really how he talks to his friend? With business is goods and that’s nice?
Maybe I’m mad at Monroe too. Or maybe at myself. Should I be telling my brother the truth about the last few days?
I liked sucking dick for the first time ever!
Ugh. Maybe I just need an early bedtime.
“It’s good, but it can always be better, right?”
“Truer words,” Monroe says, lifting his beer bottle, too, and reminding me that work, understandably, is his true love.
“Ooh. I got one,” Sawyer says and then sets down his tiles, spelling out J-A-S-M-I-N-E.
Monroe whistles. “Damn. Good one.”
Sure it’s a good word, but why doesn’t Monroe just flip the table and tell Sawyer he needs to take me hard and ruthlessly up against the wall?
Because you’re living in a make-believe world, honey.
Maybe that’s why I’m annoyed with Monroe. Because he didn’t flip the table and because he can’t. We don’t have a get-out-so-I-can-be-with-my-woman kind of relationship.
I heave the world’s most annoyed sigh and stare blankly at my letters one more time. But hold on. Do I have the words to spell what I think I can spell?
Like I’m the devilish kid in a GIF, I select tile by tile, placing one at a victorious time into the board, attaching them to Sawyer’s J as I spell C-L-A-M-J-A-M.
I drop the proverbial mic and say, “I’m outta here.”
My brother peers at the board, then me. “But that’s not a word.”
“Oh, it’s definitely a thing though.” And I’m feeling the female equivalent of cock-blocked big time.
I push back in the chair as Monroe fights off a smile. “Well played,” he says as I walk off, waving goodbye to the guys behind me.
But before I can turn down the hall, Sawyer calls out. “Hey, were you able to grab that citrus beach lotion from The Slippery Dipper?”
Oh right. He asked for that the day we drove up. I turn around. “No, but I can go tomorrow. You’re taking off tonight, right?”
Please say yes.
“Definitely.” But he waves a hand. “I’ll get it on Saturday with Katya. All good. She loves that store.”
“Yeah, me too,” I say fondly, annoyance replaced by wistfulness as I glance at Monroe.
He meets my gaze straight on. “Same here,” he says in a tone that’s not at all unreadable. It’s one hundred percent tinged with romance, so much it makes my chest ache.
I do leave this time, heading for the bedroom, where I shut the door and exhale heavily. Time is running out for us, and my irritation isn’t truly about the sex I didn’t have. I just wanted more time alone with Monroe.
But what’s the point? We’re not going to have alone time after this weekend, so I should get used to it.
After I wash my face and slip into jammies, I grab my phone, then text the girlies, asking if they want to get ready together for the party on Saturday.
That’s only two days from now.
They say yes, then I turn to a self-improvement podcast, but it doesn’t improve my mood about the clock winding down.
26
THE TRIPLE CHALLENGE
Monroe
Sawyer’s a relentless competitor. He also adores his sister, so even if clamjam isn’t a Merriam-Webster word, he leaves it on the board without protest.
“It’s a challenge,” Sawyer explains when she’s gone. Ever the gamer, he attacks the board like a word warrior.
Me? I’ve got another challenge—getting to Juliet soon. Make that a double challenge since there’s a curl of guilt in my gut. I’m sitting here drinking beer and playing a word game with my longtime college friend, all while lusting after his little sister.
It’s more than lust, you dipshit.
The guilt tunnels deeper into me. If I were my client, how would I handle this?
As I pick up tiles, trying to assemble vexing words for the game, I keep turning over the issue. Guilt doesn’t always need to be absolved. Sometimes, you have to live with it—like when a confession will only hurt the other person. But keeping this secret doesn’t protect Sawyer. It protects me and keeps him unfairly in the dark. The kind of unfair that makes someone feel stupid or foolish if/when they learn the truth. I don’t want that for my friend.
Guilt’s not the only emotion taking up real estate in my ticker. There’s something else jostling for space. It’s the wish to declare this feeling. To name it. To acknowledge it to Sawyer.
Trouble is, it’s not just my story to tell. I can’t violate Juliet’s privacy to ease my own mind.
So, I set the feeling aside, playing apex.
Sawyer sets down his beer, rubs his palms, and plays ex.
Damn. “Left my X open,” I say, shaking my head at my gaffe.