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)
She wore a purple face mask. Pregnancy-friendly whitening strips braced her already pearly teeth while she lay in her bed next to me. I’d set the white noise machine on water gurgles and bird chirps, and we were both in bikinis, pretending she was enjoying a babymoon in the Seychelles.
I was in a face sheet and a hair mask secured with a nylon. I choked on my dill pickle chips, sitting up straight. “What makes you say that?”
“Hmm. Let me think.” Dylan reached for a grape in a bowl by her nightstand. “The fact that you’ve been uptight ever since you came back home?”
“I just lost my father. I’m sad.”
“Sex releases endorphins.”
“So does exercise,” I pointed out.
“Yeah, but I’m being realistic about things you are actually willing to try out.” Dylan spat out the grape, along with the whitening strips she’d forgotten were in her mouth. “Pregnancy brain sucks, man. Luckily, it will be worth it, because I plan to tell her three times a day, just remember I made you.”
“Totally functional.” I readjusted the nylon in my hair. “And I’ll have you know I’ve been running for two weeks straight.”
My muscles were sore, and my feet were blistered. Row showed up under my window every day. We’d laugh, tease each other, and talk about our future plans. Row would give me business advice about my nonexistent podcast. He made me think of it as a possibility, not just a dream.
He’d shown admirable restraint for someone who’d found out his restaurant was going to be out of commission for three weeks. There was no doubt that the glazier he’d hired—Melinda’s son-in-law—was dragging his feet about fixing the broken glass door, because his in-laws had pulled some strings, but my grumpy boss barely even snarled and complained about it.
“You have been?” Dylan acted surprised, yanking the cucumbers from her eyes and frowning at me. “I thought you were triggered by running.”
Row didn’t tell her?
“Pushing through it. I’m planning on doing the 10K run for Kiddies this Christmas.”
“Holy shit. I hope you survive it. I’ve kind of gotten attached since you came back.”
I gave her a look. “Thanks for the vote of confidence.”
“Oops, what I meant to say is—yay! You’re almost certainly going to survive it.” She grabbed her Stanley cup and clasped her lips around the straw. “Anyway, running doesn’t do the trick. You still need a banana in your fruit salad.”
“Even if I wanted one, there are no bananas in the…erm, market.” I shoved another chip into my mouth.
“Of course there are!” she said perkily, sitting up and cradling her stomach, so both our backs were plastered against her headboard. “Aw! She just kicked. Sorry, I’ve yet to teach her not to eavesdrop. She loves bananas. Figures. She’s not the one who has to deal with the constipation.” Dylan snatched my hand and pressed it against her bare belly. Something hard and tiny dragged across her stretched skin, tap-tap-tapping, and my emotions were somewhere between extremely thrilled and completely freaked out.
“Is it true that they go nuts if you give them sugar?” I rubbed her belly gently.
She reached for a frosted cookie I’d brought over, took a bite, then chewed thoughtfully. “Totally. The sugar wakes her up. But we’re not changing the subject. Back to the banana part. What about Kieran?”
I shook my head vehemently. “No.”
She gasped. “Why? He’s too dreamy.”
“Exactly. He looks and feels like somebody else’s fairy tale. Like a Disney prince. You know—too perfect to be attractive.”
“Speak for yourself. I’m in my Prince Naveen era.” Dylan took a bite from a cookie, then a bite from a grape. I didn’t want to tell her Kieran also gave off intense hiding-something vibes. No man could be that perfect. It was all an act.
“Sheriff Menchin?” she suggested. “Some would call him…unlawfully arresting.”
“Dude, no way.” I made a cross with my fingers, as if to ward him off. “He is too G.I. Jock.”
“What does that even mean?”
“He feels like the type to wrestle a bear bare-chested…then steal its wife. The man hunts for fun and goes to gun shows.”
“That’s not a crime.”
“Sure, but it’s not my type either.”
“Rhyland?” Her eyes lit up. “Rhy’s everyone’s type. Hot as Hades, all charm and style. I’ve yet to find one woman who’d turn him down. Taken or not.”
“He’s too…obviously attractive.”
“Sure, we don’t want that. Nothing turns me on more than missing teeth and some nose hair. Really brings out the allure and mystery in a man.” My BFF’s eyes almost bulged out of their sockets. “Hey, what about Row?”
I was just taking a sip of my mocktail, so of course I sprayed it all over her bed, proceeding to cough in horror. “My goodness, Dylan, I’d never—”
“Oh stop. You would because you did. You can’t tell me he isn’t your type. I’ve got receipts.”