Total pages in book: 181
Estimated words: 177690 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 888(@200wpm)___ 711(@250wpm)___ 592(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 177690 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 888(@200wpm)___ 711(@250wpm)___ 592(@300wpm)
“Then you should tell your parents to jump off a bridge and do what makes you happy.”
“Just like that?” he says, surprised.
“They aren’t the ones that live your life, dude. You are.”
“Dude?” he laughs.
“Well, we haven’t technically been introduced. It felt rude to call you by your name.
“And I looked like a dude?”
“You did. Of course now that I know you can get your panties all twisted up over being called a dude, I’m thinking maybe I should call you—”
He caps his hand over my lips. His hand is on my lips. Gavin O’ Leary’s hand is on my lips! I can literally taste the salt on his callused palm. It takes all my reserve to not lick it. Shit. I think I did lick it a little—just with the tip… Maybe he won’t notice?
All hope is dashed when I watch as his eyes go large.
“Did you lick me?” he asks incredulously.
“Mhmm…Mmm…mmm…mmm…”
That’s my unintelligible reply, because I’m trying to talk against his hand. Luckily he moves it.
“What?” he laughs and I get that I’m making a fool of myself, but he’s laughing and he’s spending time with me, and I’m basically being myself. So, I don’t really care.
“I said your hand was there, what did you expect me to do?”
“You have a point, I guess,” he says laughing.
“You’re lucky I didn’t bite it,” I agree and this time he laughs harder.
“I tell you what, you can call me dude and I’ll call you beautiful,” he says and it makes my heart squeeze in my chest a little—but not in a good way.
“Um. No. That would be a neg-a-tory.”
“You don’t like being called beautiful?” he asks surprised. “Or is it that you changed your mind on what you call me? Because I can show you. I have all the correct parts to be called a dude,” he jokes.
“I’ve seen the women you hang out with. I’m pretty sure beauty in no way could refer to me.”
“I think I’d argue that point,” he counters.
“I think you’re gorgeous,” he says and he sounds serious. There’s a part of me that wants to believe him. But I don’t.
I’m passable at best. I have long, wavy, red hair and almost brown eyes—sometimes they have greenish flecks in them. I’m a little too curvy and by that I mean I’m a size 14 and probably shouldn’t have had that candy bar for lunch, but I did and chances are I will again tomorrow too.
“Then I should call you a liar instead of dude, because we’ve been going to school together for a long time and you’ve never noticed me before,” I tell him, but I instantly regret it. I had been playing it so cool until this moment.
“Maybe I’ve been blind?” he says and his gaze has locked in on me like a director’s spotlight. His eyes seem to have zeroed in on my lips.
Oh God! Oh God! He’s going to kiss me! Gavin O’Leary is going to kiss me!
How does a girl react when every dream she’s ever had begins to come true? I can’t breathe! I think I might actually pass out. I lean into him and he seems to lean into me too! It’s all playing in slow motion. The only thing going fast is my heart and it’s beating so hard that it’s physically painful. Then it’s time. My eyes close, and his lips are mere inches from mine. Any minute now his lips will touch mine and I’ll—
“Ack!” I scream, my hand batting at my lips. Gavin jerks back, confused. I’m spitting and standing up, and generally freaking out. I only stop when I hear Gavin laughing. It’s not a small laugh either. No. This is a full belly laugh and it’s all directed at me—because I freaked out. Because a damned moth flew into my mouth…okay not into, but it touched! It’s wing was basically in my mouth. The thought of it makes me spit again—which of course makes Gavin laugh harder.
The damn thing flies at me again and this time I manage to move with the speed of a ninja—although I’m sure it’s not that smooth—and capture it in my hand. Too, late it dawns on me that I’ve basically killed the poor thing by doing that.
I slowly open up my hand and instantly feel regret and sadness at the mangled little wing that’s curled at an odd position in my palm.
“I guess I should call you butterfly now,” he says, leaning in to look at the poor damaged creature.
I’m a murderer. I murderized a moth with my bare hands.
“It’s a moth,” I mumble, feeling horrible—for both the murder and the fact that my moment to kiss Gavin O’Leary is clearly over. I let out a mournful sigh, letting the moth gently down on the warm metal of the bleacher.