Total pages in book: 132
Estimated words: 128742 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 644(@200wpm)___ 515(@250wpm)___ 429(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 128742 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 644(@200wpm)___ 515(@250wpm)___ 429(@300wpm)
She takes another big gulp and waves for the bartender to top her up. “I’ll remember you abandoned me in my time of need.”
“Speaking of which, we’re getting everyone together for a small dinner at the house on Friday before we all scatter for the holidays. Nothing fancy. Just some takeout and drinks.”
She pouts. “Are you truly going back to America for the whole winter break?”
“Yup.”
“Come back early. You can spend a few days with me and Lee at our parents’. They’d love to meet you.”
“I would, but my dad is really looking forward to having me home.”
I’m excited to be home too. This is the longest Dad and I have spent apart since I was little. I’d been in such a rush to get out on my own, it didn’t occur to me I’d reach the point when watching football and cheesy holiday movies on the couch together is my idea of a perfect evening.
Besides, putting an ocean between myself and Nate and Jack is the best recipe I have for getting some perspective on everything.
I’m too close to the situation. To them. I’m too addicted to Nate’s adventurous, mysterious ways and Jack’s cocky grins and rampant sex appeal. And I feel guilty for being addicted to them both.
To make matters worse (or better, whichever way you want to look at it), I don’t know if this is solely about sex anymore. With either of them. Nate’s still in Dublin, but we text frequently throughout the day, exchanging more than just flirtatious words and pictures.
And Jack is being extra affectionate. Stealing me away for clandestine kisses at every opportunity. Watching TV with me even when I know he hates my shows. It’s sweet and demonstrates effort on his part.
To show some reciprocation, I decide to cook dinner for the flat when I get home from meeting Celeste. Well, I reheat some takeout and make a salad. But still. It’s the thought that counts.
“Is this when you tell me you’ve been joyriding in my car and tore the mirror off?” Jamie inquires during dinner, swirling his third glass of wine.
“Would this get me off the hook if I did?” I ask sweetly.
“Certainly not.”
“Then no, that mirror’s always looked like that.”
“I can’t get over these cucumbers.” Lee holds up a piece out of his salad. “It’s like each one is its own little adventure into avant-garde.”
“Hey.” I point my butter knife at him. “When you’re making dinner, you can cut your veggies any way you like. Besides, they’re mostly all the same shape.”
“That is not a shape known to science. Did you have to wrestle it out of the cat’s mouth?”
Jack all but licks his plate clean and sits back with his arms resting on his abdomen. “You aren’t about to tell us you’re dying, right?”
“Afraid not. I’ll be back to leaving dishes in the sink for a long time to come.” I glance at Lee. “How come you didn’t invite Eric? I told you he was welcome to join us.”
Lee is aghast. “And have him lay eyes on the demon cat? He’ll take one look at him and know he’s not a show cat.”
“Is that why you never bring him over? You’re ashamed of our cat?”
“I, personally, loathe our cat,” Jamie says glumly.
Jack nods. “Don’t we all, mate.”
“I like him,” I argue.
And so begins probably the hundredth discussion we’ve had regarding Hugh. Although the orange demon truly has grown on me, I don’t know if this living arrangement is sustainable. Poor Jamie has even reduced his nightly conquests to biweekly romps due to Hugh scratching outside his door every time he’s trying to have sex.
Luckily, Hugh seems to have respect for the other sexy things happening in the flat. Jack has snuck into my bedroom almost every night this week, and Hugh hasn’t made a single sound, thank God.
Around eleven thirty, I get a text.
Jack: Is the coast clear?
Me: Yes, but stay where you are. I’m coming to you.
Tonight, I’m switching things up. I rise from the bed and try not to jostle Hugh, who slits one eye open, then goes back to sleep at the foot of my mattress. A minute later, I’m skulking like a thief in the night toward Jack’s room.
“Plot twist,” he whispers when I crawl into his bed after closing and locking the door. “To what do I owe this honor?”
“Hugh’s snoring.”
Laughing, Jack slides his fingers through my hair and tugs my head toward him so he can kiss me. The moment our lips touch, he makes a low, tortured sound.
“What’s wrong?” I whisper.
“I miss kissing you.”
“You’ve kissed me, like, a dozen times already today,” I remind him, biting my lip to keep from laughing.
“I know. I’m saying I miss kissing you when I’m not kissing you.”
“By that logic, you’d have to be kissing me twenty-four seven in order to never miss it.”