Total pages in book: 91
Estimated words: 92646 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 463(@200wpm)___ 371(@250wpm)___ 309(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 92646 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 463(@200wpm)___ 371(@250wpm)___ 309(@300wpm)
That’s either an emergency or Nova sending me twenty memes in a row with no context.
I pull it out and glance at the screen.
It’s Nova. FaceTime.
I excuse myself from the table and walk outside, thumb swiping across the screen as I lift the phone to my ear.
“Nova?” I ask, watching her face appear under harsh kitchen lighting. “What’s going on?”
“Um, nothing.”
Clearly she’s full of shit because the number of times she’s FaceTimed me is never times before.
“So. I’m with Poppy and she could use cheering up, and I was wondering… where you were.” Pause. “I think it’s time for the two of you to talk. This is getting ridiculous.”
“I thought she was sick.”
“She was.”
My laugh falls short and flat. “She doesn’t want to see me, Nova.”
“She does,” Nova insists. “She just won’t admit it because she’s stubborn and super dramatic and still a tiny scared of contacting you.”
“Why?”
“She’s embarrassed that she moved out, and she’s ashamed she’s pushing you away.”
Ahh.
Sure, makes sense. Poppy did do those things.
“As her best friend and her self-appointed representative, I’m calling you instead of sitting here watching her suffer in silence while pretending she’s fine.”
I tilt my head. “Is she pretending well?”
“Hell no. It’s like watching a goat try to rollerblade through wet cement.”
I blink. That makes no sense. “What?”
“Exactly.”
I glance at my watch, then back toward Georgia through the restaurant window. She’s laughing with the server now—thank god—because now we may have company.
“I’m hiding in the bathroom and she’s in my apartment with Luca, waiting for me because I said I had to pee.” She giggles. “Where are you? Consider this a mini-ambush, you’re welcome in advance.”
I stuff a hand in the pocket of my jeans. “I’m with my sister—she had a breakup and she’s currently stuffing her face with nachos and margs at La Chica Picante.”
“Oooh, love that. Give us a bit and we’ll be there soon.”
I end the call and stand there.
Shit.
A mini-ambush? That’s how we’re doing this? I stare down at my cell, gut churning.
I gave her space. Gave her allll the space I thought she wanted. I didn’t text. Didn’t call. I even ignored her cryptic Instagram story about “reinventing herself” next to a photo of a smoothie and a candle that looked like it cost more than my truck payment.
But now?
Now she’s coming here?
I blow out a slow breath and scrub a hand over the back of my neck.
“Everything good?” Georgia asks, glancing up as I slide back into the booth. She’s got queso on her chin and her eyes are a little glassy from the strawberry margarita she’s been nursing like an IV drip.
“Uh.” I clear my throat. “Nova is bringing Poppy here.”
Her face lights up like she just hit the breakup-revenge jackpot. “What! Oh my god, yes. This is great! This is exactly what I needed. Drama. Romance. Sexual tension. A possible parking lot make out.”
“Please stop.”
She grins. “No. I live for this shit.” Georgia waves her margarita glass in the air. “Relax. This is a good thing. She obviously misses you.”
“False. She’s being ambushed by her best friend.”
“That’s what friends are for.” My sister’s mood sours. “Unlike my friends—they all hated Blayke.” She drains the rest of her margarita. “I should’ve taken that as a sign, because anyone who changes the spelling of their own name is a walking red flag. Blayke with a Y is dead to me.”
My brows arch.
“Anyway,” she chirps brightly, slapping her hands on the table as if she means business. “Enough about my tragic dating history. Let’s circle back to yours.”
“Hard pass.”
She ignores me. “So what’s your plan when she gets here?”
“To not throw up.”
“Good start. Then what? Are you going to beg her to come back? Kiss her?”
“No.”
“I want you to get your girl, Romeo. She misses you. I know it. You know it. Nova definitely knows it.”
I exhale slowly and glance toward the door.
Every time it opens, my pulse spikes, even though I know it will take them longer to get here than the five minutes we’ve been waiting.
The server brings a set of menus and I ask for several more, nerves kicking into high gear. No amount of play time in front of thousands upon thousands of people prepares a dude for moments like this.
My knee bounces.
I may be sweating.
Georgia eyes my jittery leg like it might launch me into orbit. “You good there, Rocket Man?”
“Yup,” I lie. “Totally fine.”
“You look like you just got called to the principal’s office.”
“I feel like I’m about to get expelled.”
“You?” She snorts. “I might be younger, but I remember how you were the golden boy. Straight-A student. Team captain. Prom king.” She slides the basket of chips closer. “Here, eat a few more and stop drinking. Carbs fix everything.”
I take one and immediately regret it—my mouth is too dry to chew and the corn feels like dry sandpaper on my tongue.