Total pages in book: 94
Estimated words: 97994 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 490(@200wpm)___ 392(@250wpm)___ 327(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 97994 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 490(@200wpm)___ 392(@250wpm)___ 327(@300wpm)
No new messages.
I open our text thread, thumbs hovering.
Don’t be needy, Juliette.
“What’s needy about texting a guy I’m dating?” I say to no one. “He brought me coffee in bed this morning.”
Juliette: What are you up to later?
Juliette: I would love to see you.
I hit send before I can overanalyze it.
Immediately, I set my phone face down on my desk, so I’m not tempted to compulsively check it, forcing my eyes back to my computer screen.
My brain refuses to process the spreadsheet in front of me. The numbers blur into meaningless columns while my entire nervous system waits for one small vibration.
As I’m about to flip my phone over—
“Boo.”
I shriek.
Like, actually shriek at my desk, several papers that were on the counter fluttering to the carpet. My phone flies out of my hand, hits the edge of my desk, and joins them.
“Oh my god!” I gasp, clutching my chest dramatically. “You scared me.”
Garrett Storm stands in the entrance of my cubicle, grinning smugly—as if he scored in overtime.
“That reaction was so satisfying,” he says, leaning against the frame.
I glare at him while scrambling to retrieve my phone and pick up the papers. “You almost gave me a heart attack.”
“In my defense…” He laughs. “I stood here watching you for at least ten seconds before I decided to scare you.”
My heart goes back to its normal rate, but I press a hand to my chest regardless.
“You’re a turd,” I tell him, and he grins, stepping closer into my space.
“It’s so adorable that you don’t swear.”
I gaze up at him. “I swear.”
Sometimes.
Okay, fine—rarely.
Garrett’s grin widens. “I have literally never heard you swear.”
“We’ve spent five minutes together.”
“No, you don’t swear because you’re wholesome.”
Wholesome?
Wholesome?!
I would clutch my pearls, but I’m not wearing them today. “I am not wholesome.”
His gaze drops—unhurried—down the front of my cardigan. The silk camisole beneath it. The thin gold chain with the J initial dangling from it. The barrette clipped neatly into my hair. Pressed trousers. Sensible loafers.
He lifts a brow. “Oh, yes you are. I bet if I checked your bag right now, I’d find highlighters and colored pencils. And a weekly planner that’s all… What do they call it? Annotated?”
I slide my tote subtly under my desk with my foot.
He notices and laughs.
“How do you know what annotating is?” I ask.
“My sister owns a bookstore,” he says. “She sells all that nerdy book stuff.”
Nerdy book stuff…
“Well, what’s in my bag doesn’t prove anything,” I argue.
We stare at each other for a beat before he chuckles, enjoying himself far too much.
“There’s nothing wrong with wholesome. It’s nice.”
Nice.
“I’m not—”
I close my mouth.
Really, it’s no use debating him; it’s clear he enjoys getting a rise out of me. It’s also clear he’s attempting to flirt and wants me to flirt back.
I don’t encourage him. Not because he’s not a great guy—he is. He’s funny and quick witted and seems like the kind of guy who surprises you with Starbucks. But I know Garrett has a bitty crush on me, and stringing him along feels cruel.
Two weeks ago, perhaps.
He shifts his weight, leaning against the partition, dangling one arm over the wall, wiggling his fingers.
“You’re like your brother—closed off. You don’t give much away,” he continues. “Half the guys around here can’t figure you out.”
Half the guys around here can’t figure me out?
The thought of “half the guys” analyzing me makes me uneasy.
“By half the guys…” I laugh. “Do you mean you?”
His hands go up in the air in bashful surrender. “Guilty.”
He beams at me.
It’s a beautiful, expensive smile: lots of straight, sparkling veneers.
“Um, Garrett. Can I help you with something, or were you popping in to say hello?”
“Popping in to say hello.” He reaches toward my desk and snatches up a squishy dumpling I keep on a shelf. “What are you up to?”
“Going through my emails.”
He squints at my screen. “Does that say ‘policy?’” His nose scrunches up. “That looks deeply un-fun.”
“Yes, it says ‘policy.’” I click my mouse like I’m very serious about this. “I’m reading the updated no fraternizing policy, actually. It came through this morning, so I figured I should, you know, read it.”
“Updated to give you the green light, I hope?” he teases.
“Updated to say: Do not pass go.”
“So that’s no bueno on dating a hockey player?” he presses, amusement dancing in his eyes. “I hate this for us.”
I find it impossible not to giggle at him.
He really is a shameless flirt.
“No offense, but aren’t you well passed breaking policies? Isn’t it too late for that?”
I bristle, cheeks already flushing. “How is that?”
“I mean, obviously you’re involved with Bishop—the locker room has turned into a dick swinging contest.”
I straighten in my chair, feigning calm. “I have no idea what that means.”
Except I do know what he means.
I know there’s tension between Declan and Aaron. I know they’ve almost fought several times. What I don’t know are the reasons why.