Total pages in book: 151
Estimated words: 145746 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 729(@200wpm)___ 583(@250wpm)___ 486(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 145746 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 729(@200wpm)___ 583(@250wpm)___ 486(@300wpm)
“You’re a Junior?” Ezekiel asks.
“Actually, my dad is Wright Bellamy Junior.” His expression clouds a little before he goes on. “I would have been a third, but my mom insisted on the different middle name, and it evolved into Monk.”
“And from what I remember freshman year,” Petra inserts, “you were slightly obsessed with Thelonious Monk, too.”
“Pretty sure I played his song ‘Blue Monk’ in every set till sophomore year.” Wright chuckles, shaking his head. “I’m a little less on the nose now, but still love him. Dude’s God tier.”
I’d have trouble naming one song by the famous jazz musician. I mean, I know his name, but that’s about it. Monk suits Wright better than his given name for some reason, though.
“I’ve missed seeing you, P,” he says. “And here we ’bout to graduate.”
Petra laughs and shifts on her feet. “I been busy. That premed shit ain’t no joke.”
“I hear ya,” he says. “I wasn’t sure you were still trying to be a doctor. Pediatrician, was it?”
“Yup. I might not ever have kids of my own, but who needs ’em if I’m seeing lil’ rug rats all day at the office?”
“You ain’t changed a bit,” he laughs, hopping off the stage and landing lightly on his feet. “Well, it was good seeing you. Don’t be a stranger. It’s been too long.”
“Yeah, it has.” She lets him pull her in for a quick hug. “I’m having a little party at my apartment tomorrow night. You should swing through.”
“Ooooh, that’s a great idea,” Gillian agrees, her eyes running discreetly over Wright’s tall, lean frame. “We’re gonna have a good time.”
He bites his bottom lip and shoves his hands into the pockets of his slacks, straining the material across the muscles of his legs. “Not sure about that.”
“Come on now,” Petra wheedles. “I bet you the same all work and no play nigga you been since freshman orientation.”
“You right about that.” He rubs a hand over the back of his neck. “Your number still the same? I can text you once I check on this possible gig, see if I’m free or not.”
“Sure.” Petra slides her arm around my shoulder and kisses the top of my head. “And I’ll send you the address. Nine o’clock. Hope you can make it.”
He nods and looks me in the eye, sending another of those sparks through me. “Nice meeting you, Verity.”
Someone else who’s been waiting tugs him to the side, and within seconds he’s in another conversation, his rich laughter ringing out. Petra walks us toward the exit, her hand at the small of my back as we leave the club.
We discuss details for tomorrow night, who’s bringing what to the party, as we cross the parking lot.
“Don’t get that cheap whiskey, either,” Petra warns Ezekiel. “I know how your ass do.”
“You getting whatever I can afford.” He chuckles and walks toward his car parked a few feet away, one arm draped around Gillian’s neck. “See you tomorrow night.”
Petra opens the passenger door so I can slide in, and grins at me in the brightness of the car’s interior light.
“What?” I peer up at her with a frown. “Why you looking like that?”
“Just thinking about Monk.” She grins and leans one arm on the roof of the car. “The way he stared at you. Shit. If I hadn’t been with you, he’d probably already have your number and be plotting how he can get in them drawers.”
“The hell he would.” I laugh weakly and squirm in my seat. “And he wasn’t staring.”
“Oh, yes he was.” Petra’s eyes gleam with mischief. “And, I hate to break it to you, baby, but you were staring right back.”
“Was not.”
“You know I don’t care,” she says, her expression losing some of its humor. “Long as we talk about shit in advance like we always have.”
“There ain’t gonna be no shit to talk about in advance.” I sigh and sink back against the headrest.
“Wanna bet on it?”
“Bet what?” I ask, cautiously shifting my eyes back to her. Petra loves a wager.
“If he doesn’t show up tomorrow,” she says, “I do your laundry for a month. If he does show up, you do mine.”
We both notoriously abhor laundry.
She extends her pinkie for me to accept the wager. I groan and lean my head back, closing my eyes. The temptation to accept just in case I win and can off-load laundry for a month is too strong. Besides, I don’t think he’ll come.
“Are we on or what?” Petra wiggles her waiting pinkie at me.
“Folding, too?”
“Folding, too,” she confirms with a decisive nod.
“Then it’s a bet.” I link our pinkies. “And I won’t let you forget the folding.”
“Oh you gonna fold alright.” Petra chuckles. “’Cause ain’t no doubt in my mind that man’s coming.”
I don’t know if I should believe she’s right or hope she’s wrong. All I know is the swarm of butterflies that have been swooping around in my belly for the last hour show no sign of resting. At least until our bet is settled tomorrow.