Total pages in book: 99
Estimated words: 102607 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 513(@200wpm)___ 410(@250wpm)___ 342(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 102607 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 513(@200wpm)___ 410(@250wpm)___ 342(@300wpm)
I am desperate and deranged.
“No we can’t ignore her.” Nova rises from her knees. “She’s in town for a job interview, remember? If she gets the job, she’ll be moving here.”
Yeah, yeah, yeah.
My girlfriend straightens her shirt and tidies herself. “Be glad she’s staying in a hotel this weekend and not the guest bedroom.”
I know she’s right. I do know that. But also: my dick wants to burrow.
“Well, she sure has a sixth sense for cockblocking.”
“You poor baby.” Nova pats my cheek with the palm of her hand as I zip my jeans. “Don’t worry. I’ll make it up to you.”
I love this woman more than I’ve ever loved anything. More than hockey. More than pizza. Hell, maybe even more than sleep, and that’s saying something.
“Promise?”
She tiptoes, pressing a kiss to my lips at the same time she reaches between our bodies and gently squeezes my balls. “You know I will, Ace.”
She’s the best thing that’s ever happened to me and not simply because the sex is amazing.
The buzzer sounds again, and Nova trots off to let her best friend up, calling something cheerful over her shoulder like, “Fix your face!” as she disappears down the hall.
Fix my face?
I glance at my reflection in the window of the microwave. Yep. I look like shit. Like a dude who was five seconds from getting his cock sucked in his kitchen, disappointed and exhausted etched on my expression.
SO close.
But so far away…
42
nova
Poppy is in town.
Question: Could this week get any better?!
Answer: Absolutely not.
There’s a half-eaten croissant on the plate between us, three iced coffees sweating on the table, and enough girl-coded gossip in the air to fuel a Taylor Swift stadium tour.
This is the life.
Poppy tips back in her chair with a smug little smirk and stretches her arms over her head, musing about her job interview.
I am all ears.
“Pretty sure it went great,” she brags, sliding her eyes closed as if basking in the glory of her own excellence, her gold earrings twinkling. Winking at me.
“Don’t lie--you crushed it,” I say, grinning as I peel the paper off the straw of my third coffee. “You knew you were going to.”
She wouldn’t have flown all this way if she wasn’t confident.
My best friend shrugs. “I mean…”
“Have they offered you the job?” I lean forward to better hang on her every word.
“Not officially,” she says, voice dripping with fake humility. “But the human resources manager winked at me on my way out. So, like. If I’m not hired, I would be genuinely shocked.”
Poppy is the kind of friend who makes every boring day better and every good day hysterically unhinged. She’s terrifyingly competent when she chooses to be.
Like today, for example: she waltzed into an IT consulting firm in a pair of black high heels and walked out with a verbal almost-offer.
“If they offer you the job, you’d be crazy not to take it,” I say, sipping what’s left of my coffee. “The office is ten minutes from my apartment. We could get brunch every weekend! We can watch Luca try to fix the garbage disposal again.”
“Oh, just what I want to do, watch your boyfriend fix appliances.” Poppy hums. “It’s tempting. But I also got an offer from that firm in Denver…”
She is doing this on purpose to torture me!
“No.” I shake my head, pointing at her like a furious mother goose. “Absolutely not. You are not moving to a different time zone. I will chain you to my building.”
She laughs. “What if I like skiing?”
“You don’t.” I laugh. “You hate cold weather, and you get altitude sickness at high elevations.”
“Fine—you have a point. That last part is true.” Poppy pauses. “Remember Breckenridge?”
Everyone remembers Breck.
“You threw up in a gondola.”
“And still got hit on!” she says proudly. “Never let it be said that I‘m not a team player.”
I giggle at the memory. “You were crying.”
“Anyway—point is—I’m ready to be in one place. For real. If I get this job, I’m planting roots.”
My eyebrows shoot up. “Complete with a lease?” In my building, perhaps?
She shrugs, then bites her lip like she’s not not thinking about all three. “I don’t know. Maybe. I’ve been nomadic for so long that I kind of want to try being domestic. Like you.”
Domestic = dating.
Awww. “You realize this means I get to give you unsolicited dating advice.” I sigh blissfully. “I’ve been waiting for this moment for years.”
“Please.” She rolls her eyes. “If I so much as download a dating app, you’re going to build me a Pinterest board full of wedding ideas and interview every potential match like it’s your job.”
“Duh.” That’s what best friends are for. “First question I would ask: do you floss regularly? Second question: what’s your relationship with your mother? Third: how do you feel about me being around all the time?”
Only correct answers need apply.