Total pages in book: 110
Estimated words: 106774 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 534(@200wpm)___ 427(@250wpm)___ 356(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 106774 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 534(@200wpm)___ 427(@250wpm)___ 356(@300wpm)
“They have great salads,” Gianna says, taking a seat between me and Audrey.
Rhubarb, the little place we serendipitously found a few years ago, is one of our favorites. It used to be in our constant rotation but fell out for some reason last fall. None of us can remember why.
I place my purse on the empty chair at my side, taking in the warm, welcoming ambiance. The owners, Marcie and Geoff, told us that the name Rhubarb came from the paint color they chose for the interior. Marcie had her heart set on the pinkish-red hue titled rhubarb and it became the whole theme for the place. Then Geoff went into a scientific study about why they chose mustard as an accent color, and how restaurants routinely brand themselves with an orange scheme because it triggers something in your brain and makes you hungry.
I could’ve lived the rest of my life and not known that.
Chessie sets three menus on the table. “Can I get you started with drinks and an appetizer?”
“Sangria for me,” Gianna says.
“Do you know what? I’ll take a strawberry lemonade,” I say.
“Ooh. I’ll take a strawberry lemonade, too,” Audrey says. “And no appetizer, thank you.”
Chessie scribbles on a notepad and promises to return with our drinks shortly.
“I didn’t get the memo that we weren’t ordering alcohol,” Gianna says, handing us each a menu. “I thought we were celebrating tonight.”
Audrey takes the laminated sheet from Gianna. “Well, since we haven’t gotten many details so far, maybe it was gross and there’s nothing to celebrate.”
“Come on,” Gianna says, snorting. “You’ve seen the man. If there’s anything gross about him, I’ll stop using blue on my nails—and you know how I feel about that.”
The menu is familiar, hosting the same dishes as it did last year, and I scan the lists for my favorites. As I check out the pulled pork sandwich and try to recall whether it’s peanut-free, a smirk slips across my face.
“You have two choices. I found a Rice Krispies treat and a chocolate bar. Neither say they have peanuts in them, but … how do you know? Do we trust these companies?”
“See what I mean?” Gianna sighs. “We’re celebrating for sure.”
I pull down my menu and realize that my friends were watching me. Very little gets by them, and my grin certainly didn’t. Gianna’s brow is quirked, and Audrey bites her bottom lip looking like she’s ready to leap from her chair and dance out of happiness.
God, I love them.
“It was a total ten out of ten,” I say, unable to stop from smiling. “Highly recommend.”
Gianna and Audrey giggle, clearly happy for me.
“I know you want details, but I don’t even know where to start,” I say. “It’s the most unexpected thing to ever happen to me … repeatedly.”
My thighs clench together at the thought of all those repeated moments. The truck bed, the ground, the shower. The bed. And since we’ve been back to town, we can add Gray’s kitchen counter and sofa, and my bed and on top of my washing machine in the spin cycle.
What a time to be alive.
“Repeatedly,” Gianna says, eyes twinkling. “Attaboy, Gray.”
Chessie brings our drinks to us, and we place our orders quickly. Audrey, of course, orders what one of us gets instead of making her own decision. Chessie is barely out of earshot before Gianna’s throwing questions my way.
“So where do things stand?” Gianna asks. “Are we friends with benefits? Enemies with bennies?” She wags a finger my way. “I’ve done that before and, let me tell you, it was some of the best sex of my life.”
I sip my lemonade, using the action to buy me some time. I knew this question would come up and I’ve contemplated how to answer it over the last few days. Unfortunately for me, I didn’t find an answer and that’s left me in a place of uncertainty. And uncertainty? It’s something I don’t do well.
“Honestly, I don’t know where things stand between me and Gray, and I’m afraid to think about it too much,” I say. “It’s just crazy to think I’m in this position with him, considering I hated him when we first met. And now, a few weeks later, and I’m trying to decide whether our week of having sex on every surface I can think of means anything more than we like to fuck.”
I pull my phone from my purse and find a number I don’t recognize on the screen. Whoever it is gets sent to my voicemail.
“Where do you hope they stand?” Audrey asks much more gently than Gianna.
I shrug. “Again, I don’t know. It’s not like I set out to date this guy. I didn’t match with him on an app or meet him in a bar and decide that I was, in fact, going to engage in a relationship with him. It just happened. It’s fun for now—a lot of fun, really. But I have no clue how he sees things. Does he think there could be something between us? Is he just playing around with me while he’s stuck in Nashville and expecting me to understand that?” I frown. “I don’t want to get my hopes up.”