Total pages in book: 109
Estimated words: 109176 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 546(@200wpm)___ 437(@250wpm)___ 364(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 109176 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 546(@200wpm)___ 437(@250wpm)___ 364(@300wpm)
He looks at me out of the corner of his eye, likely thinking I’m insane. This whole night, I’ve been nothing if not random. But why not? I don’t know this guy. I’ll likely never see him again, so I might as well be myself—something I don’t do often.
I hide behind a massive wall that I’ve built to protect myself. I’d rather live in my bubble, convincing myself everything is wonderful. The world might be on fire on the other side, but in here, I’m safe.
“I think every person hates spiders,” he muses, inspecting his glass before taking a pull of the amber liquid.
“I hate waking up in the morning. God, do I love sleeping,” I say, continuing with the random bits of information. Might as well get the small talk out of the way, just in case he’s game to take this somewhere else.
He runs his hand through his hair. “I’m indifferent.”
“Interesting,” I say, pursing my lips, trying to appear unimpressed.
“Not really all that interesting.” He turns toward me, face pinched as though he’s about to impart the biggest secret. “I hate pickles.”
“Blasphemy,” I say, barely a whisper.
He chuckles, shaking his head.
“I hate charm bracelets that have no charms.” I wiggle my wrist, showing him the empty silver-plated chain to prove my point.
“Any reason you’re charmless?”
I shrug. “It was a gift, and the original charm fell off. I guess I’ve never gotten around to replacing it.”
He peers from my wrist to his own. A beautiful and very expensive watch clings to his. “I hate watches.”
“Story there?”
“They’re pointless. Everyone has a cell. They’re basically a way for men to show off their wealth.”
He does have a point, pun intended. There’s really no reason for them at all.
My eyes lift to the television above the bartender’s head, a clip of some hockey game playing on the screen. I’ve never been a fan. I find it boring, if not a bit violent.
“I hate hockey,” I say, looking down into my half-empty glass.
The stranger next to me chokes. “Hockey?”
My finger runs around the rim of my glass, wiping the liquid away absently. “Yes. I find it to be a stupid sport.”
“Stupid?” he says, one side of his mouth tipped up.
“Stupid.” I nod my head for good measure.
“I’m not much of a fan myself.” He looks at me. “I’m curious why you seem to loathe it. You appear to hate spiders less.”
I chuckle. “No. Spiders top the list, but hockey is a close second.”
“Why?” he presses.
“It’s the dumbest sport ever.”
“I’m not sure I’d go that far—”
“Nope. It’s terrible,” I say, cutting off his defense of the sport. “All you do is watch a bunch of grown-ass men chase rubber around a ring. Pretty lame if you ask me. And don’t get me started on the fighting.”
“Don’t knock the fighting. That might be the only thing worth watching.” He grins, and I return it with one of my own.
“I’m not a Neanderthal,” I say, motioning for the bartender, who appears to be ignoring me.
“Wow, you really do hate it.”
I lift my shoulders. “What? You said you hated it too.”
“No, I said I’m not a fan.”
Not like that’s abnormal. I feel like hockey is an acquired taste. People tend to love it or leave it; much like golf.
“Semantics.” I roll my eyes. “I also hate baseball.”
“Is there a sport you like?”
I think about that question for a moment, not wanting to speak without thought. In the end, I realize sports are just not my thing.
“Not really,” I say. “But hockey takes first place for the most hated sport of all time.”
“Noted.”
I tuck a strand of my hair behind my ear. “Anything you hate as much as I hate hockey?”
He sucks on his teeth before sighing heavily. “Parties.”
My eyebrows knit together as I try to unravel this man. “Is it the crowds? Or the socializing?”
“A little bit of both.”
“You’re a grumpy introvert.”
He lifts his wrist and looks at his watch. “Wow, ten minutes, and you already got me pegged.”
“You’re practically an open book.”
He’s quiet for a second before finishing his drink and gesturing to the bartender for another. “Another of whatever she’s having, too.”
“Would you like to start a tab?” she asks with a little too much honey in her tone, considering she’s been lukewarm at best with me.
“Yeah, let’s do that.” He turns back to me. “If that’s okay with you?”
“I’m all in. I’m definitely okay with hiding out and drinking right here for the rest of the night.”
“Now that seems like a long and complicated story.”
“It is. I imagine it’s about as long and complicated as whatever brought you here.”
He chuckles a bit darkly. “If that’s true, then we might as well get the bottle.”
I lean closer to him, my lip tipping up into a smile. “Now that’s a good idea. Which one do we get? Whiskey or tequila?”