Total pages in book: 22
Estimated words: 19643 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 98(@200wpm)___ 79(@250wpm)___ 65(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 19643 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 98(@200wpm)___ 79(@250wpm)___ 65(@300wpm)
Finally, he looks up, setting the manuscript down carefully. "Elise, this is really good. Like, really good."
I wave a dismissive hand. "You don't have to—"
"I'm serious. This is publishable. Better than half the horror novels I've read."
I want to ignore it, but a warm glow spreads through my chest. "Thank you."
"Can I show this to someone I know? I have a contact who might be interested."
I blink in surprise. "You don't have to do that."
"I want to."
"Yeah. Sure. Okay."
Eventually, he glances at his watch. "I should probably head out. I have an early practice tomorrow."
I nod, ignoring the disappointment that settles in my stomach. We both stand, and I walk him to the door. He pauses with his hand on the knob, turning to face me.
"No backing out now," he says, echoing his words from earlier, but his eyes say something else entirely.
I think about the kiss, about how far gone I already am, how dangerously close I am to forgetting this is all pretend. "Who says I'm going anywhere?"
For a moment, we just look at each other. I can see him debating whether to kiss me again, but he doesn't.
"See you soon, Elise."
And then he's gone, the door closes behind him.
I press my fingers to my lips, still feeling the ghost of his kiss. My body aches with unfulfilled desire, my heart racing with something that feels dangerously like hope.
I'm in so much trouble.
Because after that kiss, I know the truth.
This isn't fake for me.
Maybe it never was.
===
4
ELIAS
I've been in a fog for three days.
Three fucking days since I had Elise in my lap, her skin under my fingers, her mouth against mine. Three days of cold showers and sleepless nights, replaying every gasp, every shudder, every grind of her hips against mine.
After team practice, I'm first out the door, phone already in hand. I've typed and deleted the same text to Elise at least twenty times over the past three days. The "practice" excuse is so fucking transparent a child could see through it, but I can't come up with anything better.
I sit in my car, staring at my phone. Finally, I start typing.
Me: Need to finalize reunion details. My place tonight?
Simple. Straightforward. Complete, utter bullshit.
I hit send before I can overthink it again, then immediately regret it. Who the fuck says "finalize details" about a high school reunion?
Three minutes later, she responds.
Elise: Sure. What time?
Yes! 'I'm the king of the world,' I recite in my head, while making a fist and punching the air. Relief floods through me so intensely it's embarrassing. I suggest 7:00, she agrees, and suddenly I have six hours to get my shit together.
I change my shirt three times like I'm sixteen going on my first date. I clean my already-clean apartment and order food from my favorite Chinese dim sum place. I choose a bottle of wine, put it out, then change my mind, re-select, and replace it with another. Then another.
I'm a goddamn disaster. I am never like this, never indecisive.
At 6:58, my doorbell rings.
I take a deep breath, run a hand through my hair one last time, and open the door.
Elise stands in the hallway wearing a simple black dress that hugs every curve, her wavy hair loose above her shoulders. Whatever coherent thought I had flies out the window.
Jesus.
"Hi," she says, a nervous semi-smile on her lips.
"Hello." I step back to let her in, painfully aware of how my apartment suddenly feels underdecorated.
"You look beautiful."
Her smile softens. "Thanks."
"Glass of wine?"
I pour us each a glass. When I turn back, she's standing by the windows, looking out at the traffic below. I walk over, hand her the wine, careful not to let our fingers brush. I'm hanging on by a thread as it is. If we start accidentally touching now, I don't doubt I'll spontaneously combust.
"So," she says after taking a sip, "what reunion details do we need to finalize?"
Her tone is light and teasing. She knows exactly what this is.
"Maybe we should also tell them I've been following your writing career. You know, so it won't seem like we suddenly re-bonded from out of nowhere."
She rolls her eyes. "You mean my non-existent writing career?"
"It exists. I read your work in high school, remember? Was already a fan."
Her blush deepens. Her eyebrows jump, "A fan, huh? You know, I had no idea you even knew I wrote those, and was even less aware that anyone, let alone you..." She pauses, and her blush burns—
"There's a lot you don't know about me." I'm close enough now that her breath coasts over my skin, enough to cause my cock to stir towards attention. "Like how I wanted to ask you to prom."
Elise sucks in a sharp breath, her eyebrows furrow. "What?"
"I was going to ask you, complete with flowers and everything, but then I overheard you telling someone you weren't going."