Total pages in book: 133
Estimated words: 128069 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 640(@200wpm)___ 512(@250wpm)___ 427(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 128069 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 640(@200wpm)___ 512(@250wpm)___ 427(@300wpm)
“I guess that answers my next question—how it is living with one of the Sea Dogs,” she asks, a pleased smile shifting her lips. “Sounds like you two get along.”
“We get along great,” I chirp out, feeling like a liar even though we do get along well. But I know I’m covering something else up. And it’s not the burgeoning friendship. It’s the reason I can’t wait till Sunday. It’s the flutter in my chest. The tingle sliding down my spine. The ache I feel when I’m near him.
“I’m so glad there’s no weirdness, like sharing a bathroom,” Everly says as we leave the spice aisle.
“We each have our own,” I say quickly, trying to breeze through this uncomfortable conversation. I know she’s not intending it to be uncomfortable. But it is since I’m keeping a secret from my brother, and in turn, her.
“And he’s not parading around in a towel?”
I wish he were. “No,” I say, but it comes out strangled because I would love if Wes did that. He drove me to work again on Monday. And a third time today. Shirtless both times. So thoughtful.
“I didn’t think he would,” Everly says as we reach the self-checkout. “But you know how they make it seem in the movies. The burly athlete walking around in nothing.”
Flames lick my chest over that image. “He never does that,” I say, and mercifully the conversation ends when two registers free up. We separate, giving me and my lies of omission some breathing room.
After Everly and I both pay and pack our reusable bags, we head to the exit, then to Everly’s car parked by the curb.
Once we’re inside, she drives me home, chatting the whole way. She’s upbeat and friendly, but she still surprises me when she says, “I’ve been taking pole-dancing classes, and they’re so fun. I had a friend who always wanted to do them.” Briefly my mind latches onto those words—had a friend. But quickly, she moves past that, asking, “Would you ever want to go?”
Pole and me? Sounds like I’d get another scar on my chin. Or my eyes. Or my vagina. “I’m not coordinated at all.”
“I’m not either. But it’s so fun,” she says as she pulls up at Wes’s home. “If you ever want to try it out, let me know. It’s a great workout, and…I’d love to do it with friends.”
Her voice seems to wobble a bit there at the end, and I can tell this matters to her.
“I promise I’ll think about it,” I say, meaning I’ll look into every single aspect of it since I get the sense she really wants me to go.
But there’s no time to look into it now, since I have to leave in ten minutes.
I don’t even see Wes when I unpack the items for our Sunday morning baking session, plus a few extra apples for him as my “rent” for the week. But I’m not surprised I miss my roomie since he mentioned he was going to a Sea Dogs yoga class and then heading out for a bite to eat with some teammates. I’ll be busy too. My brother’s taking Liv for a quick dinner and I offered to babysit since the babies’ nurse is off tonight.
When I arrive at my brother’s home, he lets me in but immediately Liv hustles me away and tells me everything I need to know about newborns.
It’s an ocean’s worth of information, and my head is swimming. By the time she’s done fifty thousand hours later, I don’t know how Christian and Liv are going to have a moment left for their date. “I’ve got this. Now go,” I say, shooing them to the door.
“Call me if you need anything at all,” she says.
“I will,” I say, but I probably won’t call her. I want to show them I can do this. I owe it to them. The least I can do is help out with the one-month-old twins, after all my brother’s done for me. Christian found me a place to live rent-free, after all.
That’s another reason I shouldn’t think inappropriate thoughts about my landlord. I don’t need a complication in my life. There’s no way I’d land another place to live like Wesley’s ever again.
As they head to the door, Christian turns back and, like he just remembered to ask, says, “How’s the bodyguard? Is he looking out for you?”
I’m twenty-six. I don’t need looking out for. But Christian sees me as his kid sister rather than a grown woman. Considering I came to him in tears four weeks ago, begging for help, I suppose I haven’t given him a reason to see me any other way.
“He’s a great roommate,” I say as an answer, and I’m ready to rattle off all the ways we help each other to show that it’s a give and take with Wesley and me.