Total pages in book: 93
Estimated words: 85711 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 429(@200wpm)___ 343(@250wpm)___ 286(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 85711 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 429(@200wpm)___ 343(@250wpm)___ 286(@300wpm)
“Here you go,” the waitress says, putting down another two shots of tequila and a whiskey sour.
“Thank you,” I say and turn back to look at Michael. “Are you from Dallas?”
“No, I was born and raised in New York,” he says.
“That’s my second favorite city,” I say. “I mean, technically first if it had a beach.”
“There is a beach in Long Island,” he informs me, and my eyebrows pinch together.
“Okay, then I’ll rephrase it, a beach with blue water,” I say, making him laugh.
“It’s a dark green.” He tilts his head to the side as he looks at me, and I give him a look that says, come on. “Fine, it’s not as good as the South.”
“Thank you,” I say, nodding at him. “So when did you move to Dallas?” I want to know more about him.
“I moved here today,” he says, and my mouth drops open.
“Like today, today?” I point at the table, maybe misunderstanding him.
“Like today, today.” He looks at his watch. “Like ten hours ago, I was getting on a plane to move here.”
“Oh my God.” I shake my head and take a shot. “This is not your day,” I say, grabbing another fry.
“Why do you say that?” He leans forward, and his arms just bulge. “I had an okay burger, and I’m sitting with a hot girl.” He winks at me, and I can’t help but snort. “Was that not good game?”
“It was,” I say. “It’s just.” I take a big inhale. “It’s weird being told I’m the hot girl,” I admit to him. “Pretty eyes, yes, but hot girl, no.” I look around and spot a table with six gorgeous girls all dressed to the nines, posing with their phones. I point at their table. “Now those are hot girls.”
He looks over and shakes his head. “That is Instagram versus reality.” I can’t help but laugh out loud. “If I take you home tonight…” He looks at me and takes off his hat, scratching his black hair. “I know I’m waking up with you tomorrow.” He points with his thumb. “I take any one of those girls home, and I’m probably waking up with Cruella.”
“Oh, that,” I say, smirking. “That means there is a story behind that.”
He shakes his head. “No story,” he says, avoiding my eyes.
“Lies.” I slap the table, smiling, and I think I’m flirting with him. I mean, I want to flirt with him, but I haven’t flirted with a guy in well, forever, so I don’t even know if I’m doing this right or not. “There is a story behind that,” I prod, the alcohol in my body giving me added confidence. “Spill the tea.”
He runs his hands through his hair, and I wonder if it feels as silky as it looks. “There was one time,” he finally says, closing his eyes. “It was summer, and I was with my cousin and…” He trails off and just shakes his head.
“And and,” I say, clapping my hands together, waiting for the juicy part of the story. The smile on my face hurts my cheeks, but I haven’t smiled this much in a long, long time, if ever, for that matter.
“Let’s just say I woke up with her eyelashes stuck to my cheek,” he says, putting his hands to his face. “Stuck stuck.”
I can’t help the laughter that roars through me at this point, throwing my head back and smacking the table with my hand. “Stop it,” I plead, holding my stomach.
“Imagine my surprise when I looked over at her and saw that.” He puts his palm on his forehead. “It was not something you need after spending the night drinking. You think you are taking home the hot girl, and it’s all an illusion.” I grab my drink and take another sip. “So trust me when I say that you, Jillian, are the hottest girl in here.”
“Well, after that.” I shrug. “I guess I’ll take it.”
The waitress comes over. “Can I get you guys anything else?” she says, and my heart sinks just a little, knowing this date is over. I mean, it’s not really a date, more like a drink with a friend.
“I’m good,” I say, grabbing my purse to pay for the drinks.
“Don’t you even think about it,” he says, grabbing the black folder that the waitress came running to him with when I was at the door. “You can use this card.”
She grabs the black folder from him and smiles. “I’ll be right back.” Turning, she walks away.
“You really don’t have to do this,” I say. “This is…” I try to think of the words to thank him for saving me tonight, but no words would do it justice.
“This was a really great night,” he says, and I just smile at him as the waitress brings the black folder to him. He signs the paper in scribbles and puts away his card. I push away from the table, my heart thumping, and I don’t know if it’s because I’m nervous again or the fact that I’m going to say goodbye to him.