Total pages in book: 118
Estimated words: 113072 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 565(@200wpm)___ 452(@250wpm)___ 377(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 113072 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 565(@200wpm)___ 452(@250wpm)___ 377(@300wpm)
Then I scoot a little closer and take another deep breath. For science. How can anyone smell so good?
“Say hi, Zoe,” Darcy says after a moment, and I realize I’m acting like a goober.
“Hi,” I say, rubbing my forehead. “My head is heavy. I’ve had a lot of beers.”
Chase frowns. “How many is a lot?”
“Three.” When the corners of his mouth twitch, I feel the need to defend myself. “I know, I’m still terrible at drinking. I never got the chance to develop a tolerance. My ex-husband always reminded me of the calorie count.”
“He sounds fun,” Darcy says.
“Right?” Chase says. “I said the same thing.”
He and Darcy high-five, and I groan. “I know, I know. I married him to get out from under my mother. But then I was just under him.” I frown. “That came out wrong, seeing as I wasn’t even under him very often. And then I found out later that other skaters were under him quite a lot.”
I look up at the matching flinches on Darcy’s and Chase’s faces, and I realize that I’m oversharing.
“When is the last time you ate?” Chase asks.
I shrug. “Not sure. Food is so spendy. It’s rent week.”
Chase slides out of the booth, and I’m super disappointed. But he returns a few minutes later with a soda for me, a beer for himself, and a giant basket of poutine.
I reach for it.
“Okay, here’s the deal.” Darcy unlocks my phone and shows Chase the video. “Do you see anyone looking suspicious? Or do you remember who wasn’t there?”
They chat about it for a few minutes. But just as I suspected, it’s hard to find a smoking gun. And I’m busy communing with these french fries smothered in gravy and cheese.
“Hey, friends.” When I look up, Harp, the friendly bartender, is standing at the end of our booth.
“Hi.” I hiccup.
“I see you two have switched roles tonight,” he says with a smile. “Last call for the kitchen, kids.”
Chase glances at me as I murder another fry. The basket is almost empty. “Another round of poutine?”
I shake my head. “Not unless you wanted some.”
He waves Harp off.
Darcy slides out of the booth. “I’m going to settle up our beer tab and head out. You got this, right?” she says to Chase.
“Got what?” I demand.
Chase gives Darcy a salute, and my so-called best friend leaves me alone, drunk, with the love of my life.
Beer makes me a little melodramatic.
Chase drains his drink. “Come on. Time to go home.”
I guess he’s right, so I put on my coat and follow him out of the bar. When we get to the corner, I expect him to head west. But he waits at the light with me instead. “I haven’t forgotten how to get home, Chase. I can take it from here.”
“I’m sure you could,” he says, his voice humoring me. “But I’m walking you home anyway. Don’t fight me on this. You’re not at a hundred percent. And someone tried to hurt you today.”
“No, they tried to humiliate me. And they did a fine job.”
His expression softens. Then he reaches over and cups my chin, and I go completely still, waiting for the kiss. Finally! My heart does a happy swizzle.
But then Chase runs his thumb gingerly over the sore spot on my jaw, and I realize he is only inspecting my boo-boo from when I fell today.
Disappointment crashes through me, as well as the realization that if I were, say, 40 percent drunker, this could have been very embarrassing.
The light changes. He drops his hand, and we cross Eighth Avenue.
“You’re an amusing drunk,” he says with a chuckle. “But you used to turn down the beer I offered you.”
“Like I said—calories. Plus, I’d never even had a beer, and I wasn’t sure I could fake it in front of the cool hockey player. I didn’t want you to know I was such a sheltered kid.”
“And yet I figured that out anyway.” He gives me a sideways glance and a smile.
I sigh. But the night air is bracing. I’m feeling more sober by the minute. “Thank you for feeding me. Again.”
“Like I always said, it’s one of my favorite things to do. There’s another reason I’m walking you home, by the way. Apart from chivalry.”
“There is?” I say hopefully.
He gives me another sideways glance. “Martina emailed us back. I’ve been too chicken to read it by myself.”
“What? You’re joking.”
He shakes his head. “I’m sure she has some more comments about my shitty technique. And, Zoe, you never quite understood this, but I’m also capable of having doubts, insecurities, and freak-outs.”
“Sure you are,” I mutter. “So are we going to read her email together?”
“That’s the idea.”
We’re on my block already, so I pause. “Right here on the sidewalk?”
He gives me a pitying look. “If you insist. But if you invite me upstairs, I promise I’ll be a gentleman.”