Total pages in book: 179
Estimated words: 170878 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 854(@200wpm)___ 684(@250wpm)___ 570(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 170878 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 854(@200wpm)___ 684(@250wpm)___ 570(@300wpm)
“Hannah.”
I jerked out of my head, mortified that I’d been chanting, “He likes me,” like a lovesick teenager. I was meant to be getting away from Beau, not letting him take over my mind.
I gazed at Fiona, who was staring at me with an interesting expression on her face. She looked almost … sheepish.
“This was kind of a setup,” Fiona explained, her eyes on me as the door opened and closed.
Clutching on to the stem of my glass for dear life, my lungs stopped working at the prospect of some kind of blind date in front of these women. Surely, they weren’t that cruel.
I was not dressed for a blind date. I knew how these women typically dressed. They were all warm, approachable, and down-to-earth, but I had a practiced eye to recognize money—who had it, who didn’t. It had defined me in my childhood, had become a defense mechanism to ensure that I didn’t befriend people who would eventually find out I lived in a trailer and got my clothes from Goodwill, dropping me like a bad habit if I was lucky, teasing me mercilessly when I wasn’t.
All of these women had money. Even Fiona, the most casually dressed of them all, was in three-hundred-dollar jeans, a cashmere sweater, and had a huge diamond on her left ring finger. We were currently drinking in a house that required a code to enter, located on a sprawling plot of land, decorated with some of the nicest furniture and art I’d ever seen.
I’d spent my life protecting myself from the pain that came with befriending people higher on the socioeconomic ladder than me, yet here I was, surrounded by them, enjoying their company. And apparently, being set up on a date.
Did they think I was that pathetic? A charity case living with an asshole, unable to find a romance of her own?
“Lori!” Fiona exclaimed, rushing over to shove a drink in the hand of the pretty woman around my age who had just walked in.
Lori took the glass with a shy smile, saying hello to everyone. The cogs in my brain turned, oiled by champagne. This was a setup. For me. And Fiona had said that just as this woman walked through the door.
They thought that I was a charity case and a … lesbian? Don’t get me wrong, if I could choose who I was attracted to, it would be women. Men were horrid at best, deadly at worst. Such a flaw in nature, to make women attracted to and have to breed with their biggest predator. Unfortunately, I was attracted to men.
Grumpy single dads who hated me and whom I lived with, if I wanted to get specific.
My cheeks flamed with shame as Fiona ushered Lori forward. I panicked, looking for an escape. But there wasn’t one. Only a kitchen behind me, the rest of the women between me and the front door.
I did the only rational thing I could… I downed my entire drink, as if the answer to politely informing my new friends I was not a lesbian in front of the woman they were trying to set me up with was at the bottom of it.
Spoiler alert: It wasn’t.
“Lori, this is Hannah,” Fiona said when they stopped in front of us. “I’ve wanted the two of you to meet for the longest time, but you’ve been away doing…” She frowned.
“I’ve been getting my PhD in Archeology,” Lori shyly told Fiona and me.
“Yeah, she’s going to be all The Mummy and shit.” Fiona looked between the two of us. “Oh god, you’re both too young to get that reference.”
“Um, Brendan Fraser?” Lori pursed her lips. “Not too young. That movie is a classic, even if it’s wildly inaccurate.”
Fiona cupped Lori’s cheek. “I knew there was a reason I didn’t hate you because of your seemingly eternal youth. Anyway, Lori’s back, and this is Hannah. She’s nannying for Beau before she finishes nursing school.”
“Nice to meet you,” Lori stated pleasantly. “Nursing? That’s amazing. I could never do it. I faint at the sight of blood.” She winced just thinking about it.
I laughed, sounding a little forced and maybe vaguely hysterical.
“I just thought the two of you—”
“I’m not a lesbian!” At my bellowed declaration, I felt all eyes in the room move to me.
Well, the plan of being subtle and polite went out the window.
Now I was just the freak in the discount sweater who shouted about lesbians.
There was a horrifying beat of silence when I wanted to sink into the ground and die before Fiona threw her head back laughing, as did a couple of the others. It wasn’t cruel laughter, though. I was well-versed in what that sounded like. This was softer. Warmer.
“Honey, I’ve seen the way you look at the asshole who shall not be named.” Fiona winked conspiratorially. “I know you’re not a lesbian. And I know she’s not a lesbian.” She motioned to Lori. “Because she’s in love with our police chief.”