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)
Though thinking of it makes me wonder what it’d be like if I met Austin on campus, too. He’s so unlike any of the guys I’ve ever dated before. I figured he didn’t attend my university, since he’s just chasing Chase Holt concerts—pun intended. Where is he from, for that matter? I should remember to ask him next time we chat.
My mom and Mayor Nadine gossip in the kitchen like a pair of lifelong gal pals about … well, who cares. They’ve gotten so close lately, and neither I nor Billy can make sense of it. Nearby, Billy and Tanner’s kids are playing video games on the big living room TV with Tanner right by them, and it isn’t long before Jimmy and Bobby are crowded around, too, wanting to take turns. My dad and Mr. Strong were ordered not to talk business tonight, but it doesn’t take a genius to figure what they’re likely discussing on the side porch by the pool. I’m guessing it’s to do with tractors or insurance or something else that would bore me to tears if I get sucked in, so I stay well away from that dangerous porch. Mr. and Mrs. Parker—Bobby’s parents—are also here, but seem way more interested in picking over the snack table than socializing. I don’t blame them; the snacks are all gorgeous, no matter the casualness of tonight’s gathering, and every single one tastes like heaven—especially the lemon tarts courtesy of Billy himself. When Mrs. Parker first arrived, Nadine warmly greeted her and they caught up a bit, their sons Bobby and Jimmy being married and all. I always wondered why the two weren’t closer, figuring it’s just the nature of them having busy lives—Nadine a bit more than Mrs. Parker, presumably, being the mayor and all.
Watching everyone socialize tonight has me wondering what Austin’s life is like when he isn’t chasing rock stars across Texas. We usually talk about me when we chat, yet he doesn’t divulge much about his personal day-to-day stuff. What are his dreams? Is he close with his parents? Do they obligate him to attend parties at his own Strong Ranch equivalent wherever he’s from?
It’s late at night that I’m back home, long after the Chase Holt concert ends, and Austin and I reconnect. For some reason, he isn’t able to talk on the phone—did shouting and screaming in the crowd blow out his voice? I wonder—so we text each other back and forth instead. I can’t stop smiling. Our conversations always flow, even in text form. He’s actually cleverer with words than I thought he’d be, always finding ways to make me laugh or bite my lip, giddy. And when we finally say goodnight, I’ve forgotten to ask all the things I thought of at the Strongs’, too caught up in the fun we always have, and fall asleep with the phone right on my chest, wondering to myself what tonight would’ve been like had he been with me at that Strong ranch and I wasn’t just lingering by the sidelines as usual, sipping lemonade and talking to my boss.
The next morning, my mom gives me a look she thinks I don’t see just before I’m heading out, and stops me to say, “Sweetheart, just whenever you get the chance, your father wanted to show you something in the office. Try not to spend all day out, if you can help it. You’ve been so run ragged this week. I’m sure Billy doesn’t mean to wear you out.”
I didn’t tell her it isn’t Billy wearing me out, but a beautiful guy with an even more beautiful heart who’s got mine on a leash.
Is it too soon to be saying things like that? I barely know him, right? We haven’t really defined what this is between us. Do we even need a definition? It’s like a friendship with a door pleasantly left open to whatever it wants to become. A recognition of one another’s value. A connection in an increasingly senseless world.
I won’t lie. I want it to become something even more. The past two times we met have been absolutely electric. I’m not counting the very first time, because I was a mess and barely knew who I was talking to, hardly registering his stunning patience to put up with me crying into a trashcan.
But there’s something about Austin—his energy, his sensitivity, his voice, even the words he uses when he texts me—that has my body climbing up walls trying not to think about being next to him, to feel his intense stare on me again, to have that constant, prickling, unbearable anticipation of whether he’ll touch me. And damn, I want him to touch me—badly.
It’s on the third day Austin calls me in the afternoon. Must be because I decided to wear my strawberry socks, second luckiest to my bumblebee ones. “I’m tryin’ to play it cool here,” he says, “but damn, I can’t help it. I really, really wanna come out there and …” Dramatic pause. Cue the drumroll. “… check on my Little A and my Kit-Cat. I’m losin’ sleep worryin’ about ‘em.”