Total pages in book: 93
Estimated words: 89878 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 449(@200wpm)___ 360(@250wpm)___ 300(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 89878 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 449(@200wpm)___ 360(@250wpm)___ 300(@300wpm)
I bite the inside of my cheek, willing myself to keep it together, to swallow down the sting of rejection clawing its way up my throat. I should’ve known better.
“Is there anything else I can help you with, Miss Price?”
I shake my head, pushing down the disappointment, and plaster on a fake smile. “No. Nothing at all. Have a good night.”
“Noah?” I call out when I enter the house. The television blares from the media room, so I make my way there. “Hey,” I say, finding him slumped down on the couch, watching Sportscenter.
“S’up?” He leans forward and grabs the beer from the table. “How was work?”
I slump into the open seat next to him. “Awful.”
Noah chuckles, taking another swig of his beer. “That bad?”
“I mean, how can someone be so chipper to call a stranger only to be hung up on?”
“It takes a special breed to do that job.”
“Yeah, and I’m not it.” Noah laughs. He leans forward, grabs an unopened beer, and hands it to me. “Thanks. I see your day was better than mine.”
“Nah. Slept most of the day. It wasn’t curing my hangover, so I decided on plan B.” He raises his beer. “Chasing a hangover with more booze. Want in? The night is still young.”
“Why? So you can be hungover again tomorrow and not go to work?”
“Are you saying you missed me, George?”
“Nope.”
“Lies. Did my dad bitch to you about it?”
My smile falls. “I actually didn’t see him today. I don’t know if he even knows you played hooky.”
His demeanor shifts. I assumed a small part of his no-show was to get his dad’s attention—a plan that failed because his dad was too busy in an important meeting. “That frown isn’t a good look on you, Price. What do you say we go fix that?”
“What do you have in mind? I’m not having sex with you.”
He brings his hands over his heart. “You wound me, dear ex of mine. No sex. Just shots. Lots of shots.”
I wrinkle my nose but let it simmer for a moment. This is a terrible idea.
For one, unlike him, I actually have to show up for work in the morning. Second, mixing alcohol with Noah has never ended well. And if I want to stay true to my word, drowning my problems in liquor isn’t the answer.
“Oh, come on. Since when do you turn down shots? My dad has top-notch tequila. Best you’ve ever had. Comes with zero hangover.”
“That you’re going to get deducted out of your paycheck?”
Noah laughs and hops off the couch. “It will be money well spent. Up we go. I’m not taking no for an answer.”
And he doesn’t. He grabs my arm, and since I prefer it not to be dislocated, I get up and allow him to lead me through the house into the kitchen. “Sit. I’ll be right back.” He retreats down the hall while I climb onto a barstool at the island. When he returns, he’s carrying a bottle of tequila.
“You sure you’re not worried about making your dad mad?”
“Do you really care?”
After seeing Jackson with that woman today, no, I really fucking don’t. “Not at all.”
Noah’s always had a great smile. It spreads across his cheeks, reminding me of why I fell for him in the first place. He sets two shot glasses down and fills each to the rim. Picking one up and handing it to me, he says, “What should we cheers to?”
I raise my shot. “To the future. To surviving this god-awful internship and getting back to school in one piece.”
His lip curls into a bigger smile as he clinks his glass against mine. “I’ll cheers to that.” I tip my head back and let the liquid coat my throat. I wait for the burn, but it doesn’t come.
“Wow, this must be good tequila. My throat isn’t on fire.”
Noah chuckles and pours another round. “When it’s a seventy-five-hundred-dollar bottle of Patrón en Lalique, it better not—”
“Seventy-five hundred!” I practically choke the shot back up. “Noah, if he makes you pay for—”
“He won’t. Trust me. Let’s play a game.”
I raise a brow, unsure where he’s taking this. “Get your mind out of the gutter, Price. A question for a question. You can answer or take a shot.”
This may be worse than the sex approach. “Fuck it. Sure.”
“I’ll even let you go first.”
I ponder any pressing question I’ve ever wanted to ask him. Throughout our relationship, we’ve always been surface level. He knew the basics of my and my mom’s relationship. I knew he hated his dad, but our demons were kept secret.
“Don’t hurt yourself.”
“Shut up. Okay, I’ve got one. Why did you choose Iowa?”
“You already know this—to piss off my dad.”
“I know, but why would it piss your dad off?”
“That’s technically two questions.”
I roll my eyes. “No, it’s not. Now, answer or take your shot.”