Total pages in book: 118
Estimated words: 112961 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 565(@200wpm)___ 452(@250wpm)___ 377(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 112961 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 565(@200wpm)___ 452(@250wpm)___ 377(@300wpm)
Relief is warm and golden coursing through me. “Ah.”
“We haven’t seen each other yet. I’m not about to break the rules.” He laughs. “But we’ve been texting and, yeah. I feel like it could be something, you know?”
“That’s amazing, Isaac.”
“So, if I’m right, and you are holding back, I wanted to say that it’s okay.” I nod. “And if I’m wrong, and you’re feeling real things here, I wanted to be up front. Don’t need you getting hurt.” He reaches forward, sending his thumb gently along my cheekbone. “You’re honestly one of the coolest people I’ve ever met. This is probably the only woman alive who could keep me from going after you with everything I’ve got.”
He’s put it perfectly. I like Isaac so much. In a parallel universe where there was no Connor, Isaac might be perfect for me. “I totally get it,” I say.
“I know you do.”
“What’s happening, my homies?”
Isaac and I turn to see Evan walking out with three full pint glasses balanced in his hands. He passes one off to Isaac, one to me, and then lifts his in a toast. “To my very long shot of winning this thing, and to the most beautiful woman I’ve ever dated.”
We all laugh, clinking glasses, and take a sip. I swipe away the foam from my upper lip. “I think the two of you are probably neck and neck.”
“No way.” Evan quickly swallows a sip to disagree with me. “He’s gonna win, and I want you to know, it’s okay.”
“Evan—”
“No, really, Fizz. We had our shot and it didn’t work out. I’m glad I got you back in my life again. And that I lasered off that terrible tattoo. Goldschläger is the devil’s sauce,” he says by way of explanation, and lifts his beer for another toast. “Whatever happens, it’s been a crazy ride.”
* * *
Inside, Connor is easy to find because he’s a giant surrounded by a group of his adoring fans—I mean the crew, but let’s be honest, everyone is at least eighty percent in love with him. As if he senses that I’ve walked back inside, his eyes immediately meet mine across the room. I cannot ignore the way they go all soft and relieved, like he didn’t relish letting me out of his sight.
Or maybe that’s the hope talking.
I do my best to temper that hope. I hurt him, and even if Connor decides he can trust me with this again, rational Fizzy knows that doesn’t really change anything. If Connor was warned not to fuck things up, then that’s still going to be true tomorrow, and next week, and three months from now, because the magnifying glass we’re under due to the show’s popularity suggests no sign of letting up. In the end I must allow that maybe it’s for the best that we didn’t sleep together again, because I very likely would have figured out a way to drag him and his big ring finger and big dick all the way to Vegas to make it official.
Squaring my shoulders, I ready myself for what is probably a hard conversation, and tilt my head to the side so he knows I want to talk to him in private. With a little nod, he bends to say something to the two women he’s talking to, and tracks my movement across the room, into the far corner where an empty table sits in the shadows.
I sit with my back to the wall, watching him as he walks toward me. It’s so strange to have experienced these feelings only by writing them, never in reality. When I say that my heart aches and feels like it’s being stretched in opposite directions by two fists, I realize now that isn’t hyperbole. Love hurts.
He sits across from me, setting his half-finished beer down on the table. “Hi.”
I take a moment to reply with the same greeting because there are so many other words at the surface pushing forward. Finally, I go with a safe “Hey.”
“What’s up?”
I decide to cut to the chase: “I heard about Smash Course.”
His eyelid twitches, jaw ticks. “Yeah?”
“Yeah. I’m sorry. Things must be stressful for everyone over at North Star.”
He nods, lifting his beer and frowning down at it. “It’s been rough, yeah, thanks.” Connor takes a long drink.
“Since we aren’t going to see each other like this anymore, and it would probably be unprofessional to call you after the show airs on Saturday, I had a few things I wanted to say.”
“Fizzy,” he says, leaning forward on his forearms.
But I hold up a hand. “I’m not asking you to change your mind. I get it. But I’ve never been able to deliver a romantic declaration before, and the last time I tried—at your house—it was interrupted by your rejection. So I just want to get it off my chest, because I think it will feel good.” I raise my eyebrows at him. “Is that okay?”