Total pages in book: 85
Estimated words: 84952 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 425(@200wpm)___ 340(@250wpm)___ 283(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 84952 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 425(@200wpm)___ 340(@250wpm)___ 283(@300wpm)
I swipe roughly and pull my fingertips back. They’re clean.
“I didn’t mean that literally,” she says, still chuckling. “What I meant was that there are millions of men out there—scuba divers and astronauts and bankers. And you’re this sweet little raccoon digging around the dugout dumpster for its next meal.”
She holds her hands out like claws and paws at me.
I swat them away. “I am not.”
She raises a brow and takes a seat on the ivy-colored couch. I sit next to her.
“Yes, you are,” she insists. “And you know what else? You deserve to pick out of all the dumpsters. Not just the one full of jockstraps and helmets.”
“Yeah.”
“Yeah,” she teases, bumping me in the shoulder. “So you tell your mama the next time she tries to hook you up with some overbearing jersey that you are not interested.”
“What you’re saying is that this is my mom’s fault, right? I can blame everything on her.”
“You can, and you should. She puts so much pressure on you to be attached to a guy—any guy—that she’s definitely to blame for at least a part of this.” She rolls her eyes. “The next time she starts in with her shit, tell her no. Stand your ground. No more setting you up on dates with guys she meets around your stepdad’s baseball team or—surprise! So-and-so’s prodigy is visiting from Chicago, so could you possibly show him around? Wink, wink. Oh!” She waggles her finger in my face. “Remember the time she volunteered you to tutor that newly single basketball player’s kid?”
My jaw hangs open. “I forgot about that. I’m not even good at math. That poor kid sat with me for an hour a day for a month and still failed sixth-grade pre-algebra.”
“See? No more. We’ve identified your problem—athletes. Specifically ones your mother likes.”
I can’t argue with Bellamy. And she knows it.
“Noted,” I say, shrugging helplessly. “I stand corrected. I’m not swearing off all men, just my type of men.”
“If that’s how you want to look at it. Just don’t get pushed into the … cock pen?”
“Bullpen,” I correct her, laughing. “It’s a good thing you’re pretty, Bells.”
She grins. “I’m not nearly as pretty as my friend.”
“If Sebastian looks at me with pity again tonight, I’m about to be petty.”
“And that’s why I love you.”
She hooks her arm through mine and leads me to the door.
The patrons who came to Paddy’s for a burger or bratwurst have all but disappeared. In their place is a younger and livelier night crowd. The restaurant’s instrumental tunes switched to a slightly louder, punchier beat. I find my body moving to the bass as we make our way to the room hosting our friend’s party.
I consider the ramifications of my self-imposed no-athletes rule when I nearly slam into the back of Bellamy.
“Check out that man in the suit to the north,” she says, stopping dead in her tracks.
Instead of looking toward the door, which would be north, I look at the area where her gaze is situated. A tall, dark, and handsome man in a tailored suit stands by a plant still covered in clear Christmas lights.
I sigh. “Bells, that’s south.”
“Whatever. The point isn’t the direction but the man.”
“And what about him?”
She turns and faces me. “Imagine having to turn that guy down because you’re on a sabbatical from men in general. That’s why you don’t do things like that. You keep your options open. Always.”
“I …”
My attention is redirected when Sebastian steps into my line of sight. His smirk is deep and wide. He waves at me, and all I can do is wave back.
“Don’t wave at him,” Bellamy says through gritted teeth.
I wait for Sebastian to turn around before I speak. “What am I supposed to do? Not wave and look like I care?”
“Good point.” She fires a glare to his backside. “I hate how smug he is.”
“I hate a lot of things about him.”
She rips her eyes out of his back and flips them to me. “He’s gonna try to screw with you.”
“I know.”
I feel it in my bones. I also know how Sebastian operates, so it’s a total no-brainer.
Unlucky for him, I know his Achilles’ heel. Lucky for me, I have no feelings for him other than disdain, and if he tries to put me in a precarious position tonight, I’ll have to repay him.
Somehow.
“You good?” Bellamy asks, her attention redirected to the man in the suit. “Because, if so …”
“I’m good. I’m great. Super. Waiting on my scuba diver,” I joke.
She looks at me like I’m crazy, like she doesn’t remember her scuba diver suggestion.
“Okay,” she says slowly. “You do you, boo, and I’m going to go do me—or the suit, rather, if things work out like they’re playing out in my head,” she says with a wicked grin on her face.
The man looks up over a glass of amber-colored liquid and gives Bellamy a sweet smile. His eyes scream kindness and a naivete that will get him in big trouble.