Total pages in book: 90
Estimated words: 91065 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 455(@200wpm)___ 364(@250wpm)___ 304(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 91065 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 455(@200wpm)___ 364(@250wpm)___ 304(@300wpm)
“Why not get her a dog then?”
“She’s at school most of the day, and I have to work too. And I have a tiny yard.” I fumble to explain.
“So? Get a tiny dog.”
“You make it sound so simple.”
“You’re stone cold, aren’t you?”
“No—I’m just realistic. If I had some help . . . maybe.”
Dex thinks for a few moments; I can actually see his brain working. “Is that why you want a boyfriend?”
I pull back. “Is that what you think?” Although, yes. That’s part of it. “Who doesn’t want a partner to shoulder some of the heavy lifting? And by heavy lifting I mean emotional support.” I sigh. “I have good days and bad days, and wouldn’t it be nice to come home after a long day and put my head in someone’s lap while we watch TV?”
“My head probably weighs at least fifteen pounds.”
We laugh.
“What’s the average weight of the human head,” I tease, feeling more relaxed now. “Like seven pounds?”
“Something like that. Mine looks like a bowling ball.”
I cackle. “No it does not. Do not make that comparison—I don’t love the visual for you.”
“I can’t help it, that’s the first place my brain went.”
“Maybe when you’re wearing a helmet it looks like one?”
“For sure.” His eyes crinkle at the corners, and I want to reach out and touch him.
Lord help me, do I want to touch him . . .
Chapter 15
Dex
“So I’ve been giving this some thought . . . I think we should actually date.”
I stare at myself in the mirror of the movie-theater bathroom, practicing the lines I’ve been thinking about since my call with Trent, a niggling guilt rooting itself in my belly.
“You have nothing to feel guilty about,” I tell myself out loud as I wash my hands. “You like her. She likes you. It’s only dating, you’re not proposing.” What can it hurt to take her out a few times?
And if we get photographed and a news outlet picks it up . . .
All the better.
“Why are you being such a wuss about this?” I say, pulling a paper towel from the dispenser and drying my hands. “Go out there and—”
“Dude. Are you talking to yourself?”
A kid of about nine years old is staring at me, having just rounded the corner from the bathroom stalls.
“Sorry. I thought I was alone.”
He ignores me and comes to the sink to wash his hands too.
“What are you seeing?” I ask him, forgetting all about stranger danger and not talking to random children because it might terrify them, but in my defense, he started the conversation.
He ignores me.
I give him props and ignore him, too, pushing through the bathroom door and back into the theater lobby, where Margot is waiting for me, popcorn and snacks in hand.
I promised her an entire day of fun to make up for the water incident in her kitchen, and I plan to deliver. I even let her pick the movie! Bought her whatever snacks she wanted and a beer too.
She has a blanket folded over one arm because, according to her, she always gets cold when she’s in the theater and always has one in the back of her car.
“Ready?”
She nods happily, a pep in her step. “I’ve been dying to see this movie.”
I haven’t.
I don’t love chick flicks, but this one is a mash-up of action, comedy, and romance—so with any luck, we’ll both enjoy it. Usually I’m a fan of sci-fi or movies based on comic books, or even horror, depending on the mood.
Margot and I score seats near the back, in the middle, surrounded by a sea of empty seats.
Perfect.
As the previews for new movies begin, Margot nudges me and offers me the popcorn, her hand already firmly planted inside the big bucket of kernels.
I shake my head, not hungry for it yet.
“I only eat once the movie has started,” I whisper, leaning closer.
She stuffs a handful into her mouth.
“I want to see this,” she tells me, referring to the preview of a movie releasing in winter, eyes locked on the screen. “Looks so good.”
A few minutes later she’s pointing at the action unfolding in front of us. “Why do they make so many action movies? Not everyone likes watching this crap. Pass.”
Then, “Oh!” She nudges me. “I love Kat Kittson! She’s making another rom-com!”
I have no idea who Kat Kittson is, but apparently Margot loves her.
She continues analyzing movie trailers, remarking that it’s one of her favorite things about coming to the cinema, enthusiastically giving them a thumbs-up or thumbs-down—until the opening credits roll for the movie we’re here to see.
The lights dim.
I turn, studying her profile—the outline of her nose. Chin. The silhouette of her hair.
She’s so focused and intent, already laughing at one of the funny one-liners. I know her eyes are crinkling at the corners in the adorable way they do, her dimple on full display, and now my focus isn’t on the film.