Total pages in book: 97
Estimated words: 96292 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 481(@200wpm)___ 385(@250wpm)___ 321(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 96292 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 481(@200wpm)___ 385(@250wpm)___ 321(@300wpm)
I look over her shoulder as Callie comes out of the bathroom. “Like … now. Later. Always. If I could tuck you into my pocket and take you with me, I would. But”—I pat my legs—“no pockets.”
June studies me before I’m rewarded with a slow grin. “That’s the weirdest thing anyone has ever said to me.”
Callie peruses the bikes for sale as if she’s in the market for one, but I know she’s giving me time with June.
Time to say stupid shit.
Time to make June not want to see me again.
It’s possible the most common pickup line isn’t I want to tuck you into my pocket. But my insecurities have always stayed in my head, no need to let them out now. Yet I step closer to June, bypass my fears, and pretend I have the slightest clue what I’m doing.
“But in a good way, right?” I bite my lip like she did and peer down at her, waiting for a response.
Please say yes.
And there it is. That smile. The drug of all drugs.
“Yeah,” she whispers with a tiny nod.
Down, boy. That’s enough. Leave her wanting more.
After the pocket suggestion, what more could she possibly want? Regardless, I turn and nod at Callie, who’s probably had one eye on us the whole time.
“Thanks. We appreciate your business,” June says.
Callie flutters her fingers like the wave she gave me at the gallery when I forgot to open her car door.
I don’t wave at June. I wink. For the record, I have never winked at anyone in my life. It feels so wrong, but June’s grin is the grandest reward, so I add winking to the list of weird shit I now do because I met a girl.
Scratch that. I met the girl.
The moment we get into the car, Callie stares at me. Occasionally, I return a quick sideways glance as I drive us back to her house.
“Just say it. You’re obviously dying to say something.”
That’s all it takes to make her look away. I feel instant regret because, despite Callie’s wealth, I might like her. People reveal themselves even when they’re silent. It’s the tiny facial expressions. The feeling that you have their undivided attention. She makes me feel seen and heard. It’s a whole vibe with her that’s hard to explain.
“Nothing,” she murmurs. “I’m just happy for you.”
Happy for me? Does that mean she’s not happy for herself?
“You know, there’s nothing you could tell me I couldn’t handle,” I say. “Believe it or not, I’m good at keeping secrets.” I grunt a laugh. “I’ve had some really disgusting people insist I keep their secrets. Not because I wanted to. I usually kept them because I was trying to protect someone else. It might make it easier for me to do this muse job if I knew what has you down.”
She keeps her attention on the road ahead of us. After a few blocks, she reaches across the console and squeezes my hand.
It’s a nice touch. I haven’t had a lot of those.
Chapter Seven
June
It’s been a week. A WEEK!
For a guy who seemed to want to go out with me again, he’s made no effort to contact me.
“Will you hand me the remote?” Ally asks as we eat takeout on the sofa.
I don’t remember the last time I saw her eat without her laptop next to her along with several open books. She’s in her last year of law school, and I commend her dedication.
“Hey!” She gasps when the remote lands in her lo mein.
I cringe, pausing my chopsticks at my mouth. “Oops. Sorry.”
“What’s up with you?” She fishes the remote out of the white carton and wipes it with a napkin. “You’ve been mopey and distracted. Constantly staring at your phone.”
“Flynn hasn’t called or texted.”
“I’m sure he will. How long has it been?” she asks, but I know she’s only half engaged in our conversation as she turns on the news.
Every night. The world news.
People our age don’t get their news from television, except Ally. She listens, eats, studies, and still manages to ask me about my moping.
“It’s been a week since he took my bike tour.”
“What’s he do? Maybe his job has been hectic.”
“He’s a muse.”
She stops everything and slowly glances up at me while turning down the TV volume. “A what?”
“A muse.”
“Is that your way of telling me he poses for nude paintings?”
I laugh. “No. Well, at least not that I know of. The husband hired him to inspire his wife to live.” I wrinkle my nose.
“Huh?” She mirrors my expression.
I shrug. “I know. It’s a little odd.”
“A little? Is this person suicidal?”
“Maybe. I don’t know. She seemed fine on the bike tour, but that doesn’t mean anything.”
“So your guy’s job is to keep her alive?”
“I’m not sure. I’d ask him more about it if he’d call me.”
“After your ice cream date, you said you weren’t too sure about him. And now you’re itching for him to text you?” She shoves lo mein into her mouth.