Total pages in book: 160
Estimated words: 153268 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 766(@200wpm)___ 613(@250wpm)___ 511(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 153268 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 766(@200wpm)___ 613(@250wpm)___ 511(@300wpm)
“Y-you fell in love with me?” I stepped forward, my eye tic out of control. I didn’t care. I never cared when Row and Dylan were privy to them.
“I didn’t fall.” He omitted a sharp, irritated huff. “You fucking tripped me.”
“I…I thought you pitied me for being, I don’t know…weird and eccentric and awkward,” I whispered, torn between glee and grief. “That you saw me as your little sister’s annoying best friend.”
“I did.” Row ran his hand over his wet hair, tipping his head back again and closing his eyes. “Until I didn’t. It was stupid. We would’ve never worked out.” His prominent Adam’s apple bobbed with a visible swallow. “Which was why it fucking killed me. It killed me that all I had to settle for was a quick fuck on the hood of my car. And that all you had to say about it was that it was a mistake and meant nothing to you. So Dylan was doubly pissed-off. Both about your betrayal and about shitting all over my heart.”
Tears ran down my cheeks, warm in contrast with the rain. We were standing in the middle of the street, drawing curious glances from the few people who ran for shelter, holding their umbrellas and coats over their heads.
“I’m so sorry, Row.” I wiped my face with my sleeve. “I thought I was an oddity to you. The ugly duckling who loitered outside your room, hunting for scraps of attention. When I asked you to be my first, it was because I trusted you, and as you’re well aware, I’m skittish around men. Humans scare me. That’s why I’m obsessed with true crime. So I figured…” My throat constricted around my next confession. “I figured you could never love me, could never want something more, and wouldn’t hurt me. A good deal for everyone involved. I was getting rid of my virginity, and you got some no-strings-attached action.”
He scrubbed his face, ignoring the rain that kept on pouring. “Doesn’t matter now. It’s done. Over. I have no feelings for you anymore other than mild annoyance.”
“I know.” I swallowed, but the lump in my throat only grew larger. “I can see you…”
You.
I can see you.
Your pain. Your struggle. Your heartbreak.
You’re wrong. I cared.
Before you were famous. Before you were rich. Before you got into People’s “Sexiest Men Alive” list. Which, by the way, should not have put George Clooney before you. I always cared. You were always so dear to me. Not as a friend. Not as a lover. As Row. The most magnificent man to ever walk the earth.
“Your lips are blue. Let’s get inside.” Row jerked his chin toward the Christmas-decorated door. “It’s Friday. I need all hands on deck at Descartes today. Can’t afford you getting sick.”
“Liar.” I sniffled, finding glee in my avalanche of emotions. “You just want that free coffee I owe you.”
“You read me like an open book,” he sighed. “In German.”
We jogged inside. The place was full to the brim with locals who sent us judgmental looks behind the rims of their coffee cups. Ignoring them, Row collapsed into the only red vinyl booth available. I slid into the seat opposite to him. We were both soaked to the bone.
“Stop looking so happy. You’re ruining my day. And my appetite.” He craned his neck, trying to catch the attention of one of the servers floating between curved booths.
“Can’t help myself.” I squished my cheeks, grinning. “This is not an ego stroke. This is an ego…masturbation. You were kind of my Brain Boyfriend.”
“Brain Boyfriend?” He tilted a thick eyebrow, instinctively wiping the table clean, like it was his restaurant. “As opposed to…Ass Boyfriend? Because that sounds like more my speed.”
“A Brain Boyfriend is the guy that you make movies about in your head. You play-stage dates and vacations and romantic getaways. Like, daydreaming. Before I went to bed, I would play our meet-cute in my head and fall asleep imagining what it would be like.”
It had been a very safe way for me to imagine what a relationship would be like without actually participating in one. I wasn’t asexual. I liked dicks. With my entire heart and my whole vagina. I was just wary of the people attached to them.
“Meet-cute?” He frowned. “But we’d already met.”
“In my dreams, I was someone else. Someone new.”
“Ah, the irony.” He sat back, folding his arms. “In my dreams, you were you. Did Dream Row at least get some NC-17 action?”
“There were a few notable moments.” I coyly collected my wet hair into a high bun. “One of them on a washing machine, even.”
“Were they as traumatic as the real thing?”
“I mean, in one of them I put a red shirt in a cycle full of whites.” I flicked a balled-up straw wrapper his way. “What do you think?”