Total pages in book: 101
Estimated words: 104745 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 524(@200wpm)___ 419(@250wpm)___ 349(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 104745 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 524(@200wpm)___ 419(@250wpm)___ 349(@300wpm)
Let me see, how to do I phrase this?
I steeple my hands and purse my mouth. “Well. My worst date was with…someone who had also gone out with my brother.”
There. That’s most of the truth.
Daisy’s eyes widen.
“What made it the worst?”
“When I got to her place—'cause that’s where she wanted to meet, thinking I was my brother and we’d already gone out—she came at me with a big plate of cookies she’d made.”
It was weird, to say the least.
I hadn’t even rang the doorbell or knocked when I’d gotten to Karris’s house—as soon as I set foot on the front step, the door had swung open.
“You’re here!” Karris had crooned, out of breath as if she’d run a mile.
“Yup. I’m here.”
When the door opens wider and steps aside, I can’t help but notice she’s wearing a Colter football jersey with my name on it.
It’s not unusual for students on campus to have sweatshirts, tee shirts, or jerseys with our football numbers on them, but a female I’m on a first date with?
It feels a little…
Creepy.
Granted, it could be also be a coincidence.
Hard to tell, hard to decide.
Reluctantly, I shuffled inside, eyes doing a quick scan of the interior. Brown carpet. Brown couch. Bare walls.
Not at all girly, but stereotypical for a college rental.
“Do you have roommates?”
“Yes, one.” Karris had clasped her hands in front of her. “She’s working.”
Ahh. Okay.
“I saved you something.” She breathed again.
I shift on the balls of my feet, uneasy. “You mentioned that.”
Odd that she made me something when she hadn’t known I was coming. The date was last minute, and we’d planned it less than an hour ago.
My date disappears into another room, returning with a plate.
In the center of the plate is a single cookie.
Why is there only one?
“Chocolate chip cookie.” She holds the plate out, presenting it to me like a trophy. “Your favorite.”
My favorite?
Ah, she means Drew’s favorite, but how did she know that?
“Er, I don’t remember telling you that.”
“You mentioned it last time.”
“Last time?” My feet are still rooted to the carpet in the spot by the door. I can’t decide whether to retreat or move forward.
“On our last date.”
“Our last date?” I repeated like a damn parrot, unable to stop myself.
“You’re silly.” She flops down on the ugly brown couch more suited for a dude’s apartment, setting the plate with one cookie on the coffee table. “You know, I texted and texted, and when you weren’t messaging me back, I just assumed you blocked me.”
Oh shit.
“I even googled what it meant when a chat went from blue to green.” She giggles. “But here you are!”
“Yup. Here I am.”
Fuck, fuck, FUCK!
Karris pats the spot next to her on the couch, inviting me to sit. “Come sit.”
“Er. No thanks.” I’m good. I’ll just stand here by the door like a goddamn pussy. Easier escape with no barriers between, like a coffee table to trip over or arms that look like octopus tentacles. “My legs are sore.”
“I can rub them for you if you want,” she offered all too generously.
“Just out of curiosity, why didn’t our first date work out?”
“You don’t remember?”
“No.” I shake my head. “I get a lot of concussions, so my memory isn’t all that it used to be.”
She nods as if that makes perfect sense. “I don’t know why you stopped calling after our first date. I thought we had a great time. You even liked the sweater I bought you so we could match. I still have it. Should I go get it?” She goes to rise from the couch to fetch whatever.
Why did Drew never tell me about this chick?
I thought he told me everything.
“Nope—we’re good. I’m not into the matchy-matchy thing.” Our mom tried to get us to match when we were younger because obviously we’re twins, and she thought it was fucking cute, but we always found a way to look different.
Why the hell would this woman I’ve never met think I’d want to be her twin when I already have one at home?
Jeez.
Karris looks deflated. “Oh. Okay.” She lets out a puff of air. “You don’t want to come sit?”
“No, thanks.”
Her smile falls.
Don’t get me wrong, I feel like a dickhead for standing at the door, not a foot more.
“Do you want a cookie?”
Also no. “I just ate.”
“But I saved it for you.”
Saved it for me, specifically?
I’m terrified to ask what that means.
“My aunt makes these cookies for me every year on my birthday—her secret recipe. She only sends me twenty-four. As luck would have it, I have one left, and I want you to have it. Since they’re your favorite.”
“Right.” Drew’s favorite.
“Won’t you take a bite?”
She really is pushing this cookie on me.
I take a few steps forward, reaching down to the plate and pluck the cookie up, palming it in my right hand. It’s massive, honestly, but feels a bit dry?