Total pages in book: 87
Estimated words: 84394 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 422(@200wpm)___ 338(@250wpm)___ 281(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 84394 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 422(@200wpm)___ 338(@250wpm)___ 281(@300wpm)
“Oh.” Elliot gets to his feet, Rue still clinging like a lemur. “Right. Well, thanks for coming over.”
“Are you kidding?” I give them my high beams. “I never eat like this. If it weren’t for prepackaged tortellini and delivery, I’d starve.”
Especially now that I can’t stop at Tani’s just in time to share her dinner. I really took her for granted. And her giant pots of spiced heaven.
“Thanks for catching me.” Rue’s smile dips. “Oh, but we didn’t get to sing.”
“Next time,” I promise.
When I reach the door, Elliot calls my name. He sets Rue down and tells her to wash up in the bathroom before he joins me. “We still on for that beer tomorrow? My sister is coming here with her daughter so Rue can sleep in her own bed.”
Again I say, “Huh?”
He takes my hand, tugging me out into the private hall. “I think we should. It would give us a chance to talk about last night.”
“Do we have to?” I ask plaintively. “I think we’re good now, Elliot. We broke pancake, which is close to bread. You apologized, multiple times. You’ll be spending your day on a chlorine-scented Lord of the Flies-like island, where parents are tested to the limits of their tolerance. That is way more than enough mea culpa for me-a.”
He steps closer, that crooked smile of his making my blood race. “Is that why you aren’t coming with us? You don’t think you can handle it?”
“Please. My tolerance is the stuff of legend. You, on the other hand, might need a drink when it’s over. I’ll leave an orange soda on the balcony.”
“Funny.” He reaches out, as if to touch my shoulder or squeeze my arm, but then drops his hand when he sees me brace. “That’s why we need to have that beer. One drink and some conversation is all I’m asking for.”
“Okay, okay. Tomorrow.”
He nods and steps back, giving me room to escape. “Joey?”
“What?”
“Be careful on your date tonight, and call if you need anything. Men can be idiots.” He says that last bit with enough emphasis for me to know who he’s referring to.
Tonight isn’t the problem anymore. He’s just made sure that no matter how perfect date number one is, all I’ll be thinking about is tomorrow.
One drink. At Finn’s Pub. With Elliot.
You know that cartoon meme of the guy sitting down while a café burns around him? I finally get that meme.
This is fine.
Chapter Eight
Joey
A is for Awkward. As fuck.
Allow me to set the scene. Last night, I was bundled up and walking along the well-populated waterfront in my new neighborhood, enjoying the small shops and restaurants, as well as the music drifting out from one of the local bars. Beside me was a well-dressed gay man who got into Pilates to balance out his love of baking, preferred Marvel to DC and had been a Big Brother for years, as well as the doting uncle to six nieces and nephews. He also listened to me as if everything I said was fascinating and/or we’d be having a pop quiz at the end of the night.
This was JD’s pick for date number one. He was real—I saw him blink and eat at dinner, and on paper he couldn’t be more my type. He even got all my random references.
That kind of perfection makes me instantly suspicious. JD’s husband does work for people who could study my search history and put together a dossier for my dates. Not that they’d ever do that because that would be crazy. Probably.
When I managed to avoid his attempts at hand holding and a goodnight kiss outside my building, he charmingly insisted on walking me all the way to my door. I’m not sure if he thought the elevator ride would give him time to change my mind or he really was that much of a gentleman, but things did not go the way either of us had planned.
Nodding at the interested Mr. Gordon as I walked through the lobby, I wondered what was wrong with me. This guy wasn’t bad looking at all, he was good company and he clearly wanted to smash. Instead of getting leg cramps in the shower, I could get naked with a man who wasn’t conflicted for a change.
Why didn’t I want that?
When a large, masculine hand stopped the doors right before they slid closed, I had my answer. Elliot was why. He was what was wrong with me.
Universe? You and I need to have a talk.
If you’ve never experienced it, there is nothing quite like being trapped in a narrow metal box between the sporty single dad you jerked off to in the shower and the debonair homosexual bachelor you showered for. The one who actually wants what’s in your pants.
Awkward AF.
My date never did get that goodnight kiss. Possibly because Elliot decided to start a conversation with him, lingering in the hallway and making it clear he wasn’t in a hurry to leave us alone together. Then he disappeared without explanation as soon as the elevator doors closed.