Total pages in book: 99
Estimated words: 97151 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 486(@200wpm)___ 389(@250wpm)___ 324(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 97151 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 486(@200wpm)___ 389(@250wpm)___ 324(@300wpm)
“Nope, haven’t slept with any of them, but I know a couple, and that one,” he says, pointing at the screen, “has definitely come on to me.”
“Really?” I ask.
“Is it so hard to believe that someone finds me attractive?” he says with a dramatic sigh.
I laugh.
We settle in and start on the first episode of the first season. I’m impressed that he doesn’t pull out his phone and start going through his emails or something else more productive. He commits, and I like him better for it.
“Is it like a mother-daughter show?” he asks, as Ramona and Avery appear in a scene just after Jill and Ally appear.
“No,” I say. “I haven’t watched this in a long time and everything evolves but I think they were trying to show people their real lives.”
“Right,” he says, studying the screen. “And this was how long ago?” he asks, when Countess Luanne appears.
“Twenty oh eight.”
“That tracks,” he says. “It’s been a while since I saw this look. And are these women still on the show?”
“It’s complicated,” I say.
“I’m a pretty smart guy. If I can’t keep up, then I’ll let you know.”
I bite back a smile. Obviously, I didn’t mean it was so complicated that he wouldn’t follow the ins and the outs of the cast and the recasting and Luanne coming back from being demoted to “friend of” for the first and only time in Housewives history. It’s more that I don’t think he’d find it interesting. And honestly, I feel a little embarrassed that I know as much as I do about a stupid TV show. This guy has spent his free time honing his skills as a chef and building a business.
“Seriously, I need to know if I’m going to get invested.”
“I think we need to fast-forward to season three. The cast doesn’t really work until Sonja’s in the mix.”
“Oh, I like to understand the background,” he says. “We can’t just fast-forward.”
“I can catch you up.”
He shakes his head. “Nope. I have to start from the beginning.”
I roll my eyes.
“What?” he says with a grin. “It’s a quirk I have. I don’t think I’d get the same depth of appreciation if we just skipped two entire seasons.”
“You’re making fun of me,” I say, a little disappointed.
“I’m not! The Housewives are a phenomenon. I’m happy to watch, but I want to watch from the beginning.”
“Okay, I’m going to order snacks. What’s your address?”
“What snacks do you want?” he asks, pulling out his phone.
“All the snacks.”
He nods. “You got it.”
A few minutes later, I jump when the door buzzes.
“Can you pause it?” he asks. “While I get the door?”
“You stay there. I know what happens after this. I’ll get the snacks.”
Before he can argue, I get out of bed and head to the door. I wait by the elevator, expecting to be handed a paper bag of popcorn and candy.
When the elevator doors open, there are two men inside, each carrying armfuls of bags.
“Ben!” I call out. “How much did you order?”
“Can I help?” he says from right behind me. “I thought you might need a hand.” He scoops up one of the delivery guys’ bags and takes them to the kitchen, then comes back, tips both guys, and takes the bags I haven’t managed to grab.
“How much did you order?” I ask him again.
“All the snacks. That’s what you wanted, right?”
I groan, because I don’t want to let him know that ordering everything on the menu is giving charming vibes.
We unpack everything onto the kitchen counters. There are six different types of ice cream, popcorn, and every kind of chocolate and candy.
“This is my favorite,” I say holding up a bar of crunchy chocolate. “But two mouthfuls and it’s gone.”
“We can order more,” he says.
“We should definitely order more, given our commitment to getting diabetes.”
He chuckles, and I feel it in my chest.
“So, back to bed?” he asks, when we’ve put all the food away.
“Yeah, but we can change what we’re watching, put on a movie or read or something?”
“I’m good with these New York women. But we can read if you’d like. How much time do you allocate to each activity?” he asks, as he follows me back into the bedroom.
I laugh. “We don’t allocate time. We do what we want, when we want to do it.” He gets into bed and presses play, while I grab my nail polish remover, some cotton pads and a hand towel from the bathroom.
“I chipped the polish on my big toe,” I say. “Will the smell bother you?”
He shakes his head, more focused on the screen than anything I’m doing. “Are that one and that one friends? I’m not sure the one with the cookies really likes the one with the husband and the dog.”
“Well, color me surprised. You nailed it.” I press a cotton pad to the open bottle of nail polish remover and tip it upside down.