Total pages in book: 150
Estimated words: 147136 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 736(@200wpm)___ 589(@250wpm)___ 490(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 147136 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 736(@200wpm)___ 589(@250wpm)___ 490(@300wpm)
“Uh …”
“Get a clue, Jamie,” Tori snapped, wrapping her hand around my elbow and tugging me in the direction we came, my feet shuffling backward quickly to keep up with her mile-long stems.
“What in the world was that all about?” I whispered when we reached the bar.
Shay spotted our return and slid off the back counter, where she’d been perched, legs swinging, speaking through the open rectangular window that separated us from Stitch, who didn’t seem to be conversing back with her, only listening with his head down and eyes focused, and came to stand beside me, leaning her elbows on the bar.
Tori stepped behind and grabbed two glasses, lifting her shoulders and trying to appear nonchalant as she filled each with ice.
“What?” she asked.
I leaned in, my hands flat on the cool wood.
“What? Why was that stunner calling you Legs, and why is he coming in to ‘love on you’? Did you hook up with him or something?”
Tori was the Rachel to my Monica. I didn’t think she kept secrets from me, not any, and especially not ones involving a hot cigarette-smoking surfer who looked like a former J.Crew model, fired for his bad-boy image and lewd habits.
Shay giggled beside me.
“I love that he calls you Legs. Nicknames are so sweet and sexy.”
I sucked in a breath, feeling warm and full and fuzzy all over. Wild.
Babe.
Tori sat the cup with Sprite down on the bar and grabbed the bottle of grenadine. Her eyes rolled.
“Tori,” I urged, needing answers and gossip more than my next breath.
“Okay, seriously, first of all,” she started, sounding impatient while pouring the red sticky syrup into the glass of Coke, “I did not hook up with that idiot. If I did, I would’ve told you, because I tell you everything. You’re my best girl.”
I smiled hearing that and stood a little taller.
“And second”—she stuck the bottle behind the bar again and frowned at Shay—“nicknames are only sweet and sexy when they aren’t stupid and uninspired, like, for example, naming a girl after a body part. He might as well just call me head or toenail.”
I kept on smiling, thinking about how inspiring Brian’s choice of nicknames were for me, and then thinking about how much I disagreed with Tori’s opinion, because I thought Legs was a pretty sweet and sexy nickname, and clearly inspiring.
Tori’s legs were jaw-dropping.
But I would never admit my disagreement right now. We had each other’s backs, through and through.
Tori turned her head, eyes narrowing in the direction of the only occupied booth in our section, huffed, then slid the glasses across the bar in front of Shay.
“Can you take these over there for me? I want to talk to Syd.”
Shay picked up the glasses and walked away. No questions were asked.
Tori sidled up next to me.
“Okay, so here’s the deal,” she began, voice lowered and unamused.
I turned and gave her my full attention, pulse racing and skin warming all over.
Tori noticed my reaction and shook her head.
“Oh, my God. Could you not look so excited right now?”
“I can’t help it!” I exclaimed, clamping a hand over my mouth after getting shushed. “He calls you Legs,” I whispered between my fingers.
Her lip twitched.
“He’s a loser.”
“He’s gorgeous,” I countered.
“He’s a gorgeous loser.”
“With great hair and dimples.”
“Looks aren’t everything, Syd.”
“No, but they’re a nice bonus.”
“He didn’t care that I was with Wes.”
I leaned closer. My stomach rolled unpleasantly.
“What?” I asked, no longer feeling the hurried beats of my heart against my ribs.
Tori’s eyes moved over my shoulder for the briefest second, then pulled back to mine.
“About five months ago he came in here and sat in my section, flirted with me, and I mean flirted, asking me out and calling me Legs, saying mine would look fantastic draped over his shoulders or spread wide in his backseat.”
My eyes bugged.
Tori shook her head and waved a dismissive hand.
“Who is he?”
“Jamie McCade, local surfing legend,” she answered flatly, completely unimpressed as she brought one arm across her body and gripped her elbow. “He’s the youngest guy ever to win so many championships in a row. He’s broken world records.”
“Wow.”
“He’s a complete dick.”
“Um.” I bit my lip. “How is he a complete dick again?”
I was still waiting for proof of his dickness. I wasn’t convinced yet.
Shay moved past us.
“I told them you’d be over in a minute to get their orders. Jamie said to tell you he misses you,” she announced, the little crossbones in her hair catching in the light overhead and shimmering.
She pulled herself up on the counter again and twisted her body, her head back in the window to resume her one-sided conversation with Stitch.
Tori didn’t even flinch at the mention of Jamie’s sentiments, but she did lower her eyes to a spot on the floor.
“What happened?” I urged her on. I needed to know.