Total pages in book: 98
Estimated words: 90887 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 454(@200wpm)___ 364(@250wpm)___ 303(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 90887 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 454(@200wpm)___ 364(@250wpm)___ 303(@300wpm)
“I will be choosing today,” she says.
“When?”
“How about now?”
Her hand hovers over the bowl, and she drops her head to one side, narrowing her eyes. “There are three of you left, and only two more dates. That means someone has dropped out.”
Noah’s head swivels and his brows draw downward in confusion. “I thought Carl didn’t put his name in.”
“Carl was last night,” Kyla says. “I guess it’s not you who pulled out?”
Noah shakes his head vigorously. “Hell no. Do I look like a man who doesn’t know a fucking amazing thing when he sees it?”
Behind us, someone starts up their tattoo gun, getting ready to ink their first customer. What we’re doing right now is hardly professional but fuck it.
Kyla snatches up the paper, and unwraps it. When her eyes flick up to Noah, I know immediately that he’s next, and so does he.
“Yes!” He pumps his fist and ducks over reception to plant a firm kiss on Kyla’s lips. “I’ll write down the address,” he says. “Come at eight pm. My brothers will not be home.”
The nod he sends in my direction is all the instruction I need to find another place to sleep tonight. Carl has a pull-out and spare mattress for me and Niall. We won’t mind freeing up the apartment so that Noah can have his night, and Kyla can feel comfortable to let go and not have to worry that two other sets of ears are listening.
Kyla seems startled by Noah’s enthusiasm, bringing her hand to her chest as he practically skips to his booth to get ready for the day. Her eyes drift across the shop, finding me leaning up against the wall, watching.
“So it’s you or Dex?” she says.
I play dumb, but I’m not sure why. It’s not like denial is going to make Kyla forget what is obvious. “Me or Dex what?”
“It must be you,” she says. “This whole thing was Dex’s idea. Why the hell would he pull out?”
“I guess all will be revealed,” I say, sounding like I should be a gentleman in a Jane Austen novel, not a tattooed brute.
Kyla’s smile sends a clear message. She’s relaxed about whatever happens next and I like that. It means that this crazy game that Dex set up is working for her as much as it’s working for us. And if it’s working for her, then maybe, just maybe, my idea isn’t so far-fetched after all.
27
NOAH
Kyla arrives dead on time and dressed in a cute pink fluffy sweater and baggy torn jeans that look like something she might have borrowed from a previous boyfriend.
"Did you eat? I ask as I take the jacket that she's carrying over her arm.
"Yeah, I made some pasta."
"Mmmmm…I love pasta, but pasta doesn't love me." Patting my belly, Kyla rolls her eyes.
"There isn't an ounce of extra fat on that stomach, and you know it," she says.
"So, if you don't need anything to eat, can I get you a drink or three."
I begin to lead her to the kitchen, where we have a homemade bar that I fashioned with my brothers from an old drawer unit. It's well-stocked with spirits, mixers, and cool glasses. The ideal way to get a party started.
"Am I going to need three?" she asks, a hint of nervousness creeping into her voice.
"Well, that depends."
"On what?" She cocks her head to one side and rests against the door jamb, watching me with appraising eyes.
"How willing you are to give overall control to me?" I ask.
"Maybe I'll need more than three," she says, drifting into the room so she can take a closer look at the bar. "This is very cool. Can you make cocktails?"
"I can. Name your drink."
"What about sex on the beach? Do you have orange juice?"
"I have everything I need to make your dreams come true."
Kyla snorts as I take two tall glasses and rest them on top of the bar. I head to the fridge to fill the ice bucket and find the freshly squeezed juice. I need vodka and peach schnaps and some sickly-sweet grenadine for the drippy sunset effect around the edge of the glass. When I'm done assembling our drinks, I realize the Kyla's drifted off to look at the shelves on either side of our monster-sized TV. "Who's the reader?" she asks. "It's definitely not you."
"What are you trying to say?" I snort, slightly taken aback. I might not be much of a reader of fiction, but I keep up to date with world politics and economics. Despite choosing not to go to college, I had the grades that would have got me in. It always amuses me when I come out with something current and intelligent-sounding and find astounded expressions as a result. Shocking people can be fun.
"You don't strike me as a person who would want to spend time in another person's shoes. You seem more than comfortable in your own."