Total pages in book: 133
Estimated words: 128156 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 641(@200wpm)___ 513(@250wpm)___ 427(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 128156 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 641(@200wpm)___ 513(@250wpm)___ 427(@300wpm)
And I think about her.
What she wants. What makes her laugh.
What brings sadness to her eyes and a smile to her lips.
The way she’s shared her most precious memories, openly and without pause.
The way that she made me this damn dessert.
Fuck.
Shit.
I should have stopped this before she left. Should have told her I didn’t want her to go, at least not as his date—not as his anything.
I can fix this.
It’s not too late.
Picking Deaton up, I set him and his plate down at the mini kitchen table, kissing his temple. “I’ll see you later, little man. Love you.”
“Love you!” he shouts, and I’m already at the door, yanking it open.
“Where you goin’, Chaser?” Cameron teases.
A low laugh leaves me, and I look over my shoulder at my friends, my grin matching theirs. I don’t say a word, just pull the door closed and laugh at the celebration on the other side, jogging to my truck.
Paige thought of me today.
It’s about damn time I stop pretending I don’t think of her all damn day.
Too bad for me, it takes until I reach the curb to realize two very important things I’ve overlooked.
One, I didn’t drive here today, so my truck is on the other side of campus.
Two—and the most important part—I have no idea where he’s taking her tonight.
I drop my head back, glaring at the sky. “Fuck.”
CHAPTER FOURTEEN
Paige
The young man gives a sharp bow, a smirk on his lips as he stands and elegantly makes his way offstage.
A low laugh leaves me, and I clap along with half the room, many others engrossed in quiet conversation at their tables, so as not to overshadow the performers onstage. That seems to be the theme for tonight.
Prescott was right; he had no reason to hang out here for all that long. There was a cocktail hour at the start of the event, and then a short speech as dinner was served. There must have been around two hundred people in attendance, but a good 20 percent of those left after finishing their meals—and pulling envelopes with checks tucked inside from their coat pockets, if Prescott’s whisper was correct. I’m sure it was.
I’ve never actually been in a room full of people like this before. It was a bit intimidating at first, the side glances and fake smiles, but everyone is kind enough, and the table we were assigned is full of people who Prescott seems to know, so my nerves settled easily.
But no one seems to be paying all that much attention to the early teens who take the stage, one after another. I, on the other hand, have watched every single performance, recording and taking so many pictures that my phone died.
“See?” Prescott’s gravelly whisper reaches my ears. “I knew you would love this. And much more than anyone else, it seems.” He looks to the black screen of my phone with a grin.
I shrug, still smiling. “Nothing new. I’m the worst when it comes to remembering to charge it. I’m just glad it lasted as long as it did.”
He chuckles, looking around. “Well, it looks like we outlasted the majority.”
I peek around, noting there are only a few people left at each table. “I didn’t even notice.”
“I know.” I can hear humor in his tone and when I look over, he adds, “Your whole face is lit up right now. It’s quite endearing. You could watch this kind of thing all night, couldn’t you?”
I lift a shoulder, then bump mine against his. “It’s basically what I’ve always wanted, give or take a detail or two.”
“Well, there is a lot more where this came from.”
“Sure…if I turn my grandfather down.”
“Ah, but I work for your grandfather and look at me.” He holds his hands out, smiling all boyish-like.
I nod, pulling my lips in. “Yeah, I guess that is technically true.” I don’t say it’s not the same, but I think he would understand what I meant if I did.
“So all you have to do is say the word, and I’ll happily take you. We could eat free meals at places like this a few times a week. Good meals, great performances.”
“You haven’t watched a single routine.”
“No, but I did watch you watch a couple.” He grins and a low chuckle leaves me.
“Well, you missed out. These kids are fantastic.”
He agrees, lifting his glass to take a sip of the wine that was poured with dinner.
I guess I’m not sophisticated enough because warm red wine tastes like a shot of brandy to me—fermented and just…foul.
“I can’t spot talent so easily, being a numbers guy like your grandfather, but I imagine they are good.” Prescott nods, looking to the stage as a young girl takes a seat behind a piano, the last performer of the night. “They’re classically trained, and their yearly tuition costs as much as a new car.”