Total pages in book: 99
Estimated words: 93224 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 466(@200wpm)___ 373(@250wpm)___ 311(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 93224 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 466(@200wpm)___ 373(@250wpm)___ 311(@300wpm)
“Absolutely,” I say.
Simone gives me a look that’s half-fascinated, half-suspicious. This particular woman I’ve only met once or twice, and I’m cautious around her. I don’t know why because she’s not older. But somehow, she seems more mature, and is the only one I suspect is really watching. But she just nods, then says, “Andie’s a perfectionist too. Everything has to be just so. Remember when she hung pictures in our dorm room, girlfriend? You were insane.”
Andie doesn’t respond, but her knee bounces under the table, heel thumping an irregular beat on the floor.
Stella comes back with the IKEA box, which is half the size of a casket, with Mary Kate right behind her, and together we open the boxes on the living room rug. The girls crowd around, giving advice and making a contest out of who can mispronounce the Swedish product names the most outrageously.
I watch Andie out of the corner of my eye, and every time I catch her looking at me, she glances away, flushing a little. I can tell she’s dying inside. Me too.
I start sorting the screws and brackets, lining them up by type and size. Stella calls me “Rain Man” and starts separating the dowels by color, which makes Kayleigh laugh so hard she snorts beer through her nose.
After a while, the conversation shifts from the shelves to weekend plans, then to relationships, and then—because college girls can’t help themselves—to sex.
Kayleigh is the boldest: “Simone, have you gotten it on with your professor again yet?”
Simone blushes, but she grins. “Maybe.”
Stella claps her hands. “I told you. Liam Thomas is obsessed with her. He writes her love notes and everything.”
Simone shakes her head, but doesn’t deny it. “He’s a really good writer. He’s going to be nominated for poet laureate soon. I can feel it.”
Mary Kate, mouth full of popcorn, says, “Andie’s dating someone, too.”
The room hushes for a beat.
I freeze, the screwdriver held like a weapon in my fist.
Andie just laughs, but it’s high and fake. “Not true. It’s just some guy. We’re not even official.”
Kayleigh pouts. “He’s super mysterious. Like, she never lets us meet him.”
Andie shrugs, and her hands go white around her knees. “He’s just busy. He works a lot.”
Mary Kate leans over, stage-whispers, “We think he works for the FBI. That’s the only reason she hasn’t brought him around yet.”
Everyone laughs—everyone but me, because I can’t. I can only look at Andie and see the quiver in her lip, the way she’s dying to reach across the table and touch my hand, just once, just for a second.
I turn back to the box, masking my face with the shadow of the shelf. “FBI agents are overrated,” I say, voice light. “Too many trust issues.”
Simone laughs, the tension broken. “That’s exactly what an undercover FBI agent would say.”
We all join in, and for a moment, it feels almost normal. Like I could stay here forever, building shelves for these girls, fixing whatever needs fixing.
When the laughter dies, I pick up the drill and test the trigger, the sharp whine cutting through the soft hum of the room.
“Let’s do this,” I say.
Stella claps, delighted, and drags a dining chair over for me to stand on.
As I work, Andie stands just behind my left shoulder, holding the level and reading the instructions. Our arms brush, skin on skin, and every touch is a jolt—half pain, half pleasure. I want to reach for her, to press her against the wall and kiss her until she cries out, but I don’t. I keep my hands busy, my mouth full of instructions, my eyes on the task at hand.
Occasionally, I let my gaze drift down the length of her body—the curve of her hip under the thin leggings, the way the sweatshirt hangs loose off her shoulder, exposing the pale, soft skin of her collarbone.
I want to bite it.
She senses my stare, and for a moment, the air between us is electric, the only real thing in the world.
“Does that look level?” I ask, not turning.
She checks it, her hand trembling just a little. “Perfect,” she says.
I grin, and together we hold the shelf against the wall while I drive the screws in, one by one. The drill bites deep, the wall vibrating with each thrust. I imagine what it would feel like to take her here, in this room, with all the girls gone. The thought makes me hard, and I will it away.
We finish the first shelf, and Stella whoops with delight, already arranging little potted succulents along the length of it.
“Mission accomplished,” I say, wiping sweat from my brow.
“Another one,” Kayleigh says, “over the TV.”
I glance at Andie. She’s breathing hard, her cheeks bright.
“Another one,” I agree.
We do it again, and this time our arms touch more often. When the shelf is up, I let my hand rest on her shoulder, just for a second, and she shivers under my touch.