Total pages in book: 124
Estimated words: 117415 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 587(@200wpm)___ 470(@250wpm)___ 391(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 117415 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 587(@200wpm)___ 470(@250wpm)___ 391(@300wpm)
“Do what?”
“Minimize yourself. Noticed it right away, back when we first met. In that back hallway, even while in tears, you kept … talkin’ yourself down, like you didn’t deserve to take up space.”
“It’s … I just didn’t feel like … I mean …” He sighs, frustrated.
“Hey, hey, it’s alright,” I assure him, sliding a few dollars in and tapping the keypad. “Don’t mean to judge. I sometimes talk myself down, too. It’s normal. I’m just tryin’ to tell you …” I take a breath and smile. “You don’t have to talk yourself down with me. Not even a teeny bit. Take up all the space you want.”
“Space …” he murmurs.
The machine groans. My precious package of Oreos squirms as the coil twists to free it—then sticks, half-hanging, stuck. I give the machine a polite bump of my fist. Then a less polite bump. Then a downright rude one. “You serious?”
“Are you at a snack machine or something?”
“A snack prison, apparently.” I shove my shoulder into it with force. The thing rocks. My snack does not. “Damned Oreos.”
“I wish I hadn’t scared away your cat. Might be long gone by now, halfway to Fairview. I can be pretty scary, y’know.”
I take another mental note to look up this Fairview town he’s referenced more than once before shoving my shoulder into the machine. The Oreos stay put. “Hope that Kit-Cat avoids the cars, if that’s the case.” Another shove. No luck. “It ain’t safe out there on the open road.”
“Your sweetness toward little animals is next-level adorable. Have you always been this protective?”
I smile. “Only over things I care about.” Another shove.
“Like Oreos?”
“Or you,” I say—then freeze.
Did I mean to say that?
A figure appears around the corner: the front desk clerk. “Sir, you can’t do that. If you’re having trouble with—” He freezes as recognition dawns on him. “Wait a sec. Are you Chase Holt??”
I don’t let the second syllable of that question come out of his lips before I’ve hung up on Timothy.
I grimace, clenching shut my eyes. “Yeah.”
“Sorry, sir. Mr. Holt, sir. The, uh … machine has a tendency … actually, y’know what?” He comes up to the machine himself and, with a weird sort of side maneuver that looks a lot like humping it with mild sexual passion, my Oreos dislodge and tumble down. He reaches in, gets it out, then presents it to me with both hands like it’s a prized artifact. “H-Here you are, Mr. Holt, sir. I’m a … I’m a huge fan. I … I love your work. Ever since Hate Me. I can’t believe I’m looking at you. I can’t believe you’re you, and you’re here. I mean, I knew you’re here, but you’re you, and you’re here!”
“I’m me, and I’m here,” I agree, then peer down at the Oreos, still outstretched with both his hands. After a second’s hesitation, I reach for the pen in his shirt pocket instead—startling him, eyes going as wide as his face—and autograph the white area on the Oreo packaging. I tuck his pen back into his pocket, glance at his nametag, then say, “Thanks for bein’ a fan, Justin,” before heading off, leaving him staring, unable to blink, breathe, or speak.
By the time my phone moos at me again, I’m back in my room. After a long, deep breath enters and vacates my lungs, I sit on the edge of my bed, pray I hung up fast enough, then answer. “Hey.”
“Think we got disconnected,” he says. “Phone just cut off. Did you get what you wanted, by the way?”
I smile with relief, then lie back on the bed, the crisp, cool sheets welcoming me like a hug. “Sure did.”
“Four days sounds like forever.”
“Sure does.”
“I’m glad you picked up. To be honest … I wasn’t ready for this phone call to end just yet.”
I grin. “Me neither.”
Chapter 9.
Timothy
The first day, I’m running errands for T&S’s, driving around town picking up this and that, delivering this and that, checking in with so-and-so, then surprising myself when I check my watch and realize it’s already late afternoon.
I’d forgotten about a “top of the summer” gathering at the Strongs’ that my mom basically obligated us to attend, the guest list consisting mainly of their immediate family plus one or two others—us being one of the “one or two others”. So I end up spending the evening in the Strongs’ main house loitering around the bar (even though I don’t really drink, choosing a glass of Jacky-Ann’s legendary lemonade over anything alcoholic).
Most of the night, I end up hanging with Billy chatting about college. He shares his cutthroat culinary school experience with me, leaving me admiring all he went through to become what he is. I tell him how I sort of found myself at school, omitting the part about making lots of gay friends—and exes I strategically avoid. AJ is a part of that (major protective straight bestie energy, though honestly, most of the time he’d scare away potential dates, too). I figure Billy can do without all the tedious details.