Total pages in book: 93
Estimated words: 89553 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 448(@200wpm)___ 358(@250wpm)___ 299(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 89553 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 448(@200wpm)___ 358(@250wpm)___ 299(@300wpm)
Hunter rolls his eyes. “No, so we can hang out some more. Talk.”
A smile threatens at the corners of my mouth. “Are you asking me out on a date?”
“I guess,” he says, scanning the traffic heading north and watching for the crossing to change.
“A real date?” I ask. “Not a fake date.”
“No, Lucy. A real date.”
“We can do that,” I say.
“Good,” he replies.
“Good,” I tease.
The traffic stops, and he scoops up my hand as we cross the street, on our way to go buy me an LSAT book. I’m not quite sure how Hunter and I got to this point. He’s far from the man I first met, drunk at my parents’ house. He’s kind and supportive and encouraging me to lean into a version of myself that has potential. I’m not sure if I’ve ever been so happy to be out in the New York sunshine. Holding hands with Hunter.
Chapter Twenty-Three
Hunter
On Saturday night, I offer to go and get Lucy from Brooklyn, but she insists on meeting me at a bar in SoHo. I would have been happy to stay in, order pizza, and watch Netflix, but I don’t want her to think I’m only interested in sex. Not that I’m not interested in sex—I most definitely am. Specifically, sex with Lucy. But I like hanging out with her too. She’s fun. And sweet and thoughtful. She makes me laugh. She makes me think.
I step into the bar and pull my phone from my back pocket. Everyone’s dressed as if they’re from the 1800s. Did I miss something? I scan the room and lock eyes with Lucy. My heart soars in my chest. She looks astonishing. Even in jeans and a T-shirt, she looks like a goddamn angel. Her hair is loose and wavy and hangs down over her shoulders. Her cheeks are pink and her sea-green eyes are quite simply dazzling.
I stalk over to where she’s sitting on a barstool, and her smile widens the nearer I get. When I reach her, I do the only thing I can: I cup her face and press a kiss to her lips. God, I wish it were just the two of us here and the rest of the people in this bar would just disappear. I only want to be with her. Here, in public, it feels like I have to share her a little.
“Hey,” she says on a little sigh as I pull back.
“You look gorgeous.”
“Hunter,” she says like I’m crazy, “I was studying. I lost track of time. I’ve been wearing this all day. I let my hair down and that’s it.”
“I don’t think you’ve ever looked so beautiful.”
She smiles, but it’s not a confident smile. She smiles like she can’t quite believe what I’m saying is true, and the thought tugs at my chest. I really don’t understand why she’s so down on herself. I know she looks up to Katherine, but she and Katherine are just different. Katherine’s a teacher who lives in suburban Boston. Lucy is a paralegal in New York City. They lead opposite lives that are impossible to compare, but Lucy still thinks she’s not matching up to Katherine.
“This place is wild,” she says, changing the subject.
“Yeah. I’ve been to speakeasy places where the waitstaff wear costumes, but not a . . . what? Victorian place?” I glance up. “Why is there a wolf on the ceiling?” I slide onto the stool next to her.
“I was wondering the same thing,” she says matter-of-factly. “I’ve come to the conclusion that it must be a hound.”
I narrow my eyes, wondering if I’ve lost time somewhere, which might explain my confusion. “A hound?”
“As in Baskerville. The place is called Baker Street, right? It’s a Sherlock Holmes–themed bar. At least, I think it is. The cocktails seem themed after Sherlock Holmes books. Or something. My dad had the books and used to read them on a Sunday after lunch.” She grabs a menu from where it’s standing upright on the bar. “Five Orange Pips. That was a story, right?”
“I defer to you on all things Holmesian.”
She puts the menu down and grins at me. “Is it weird that I know this stuff?”
I shake my head. “I like you telling me things. It’s . . . sexy.”
Her eyes widen. “Really?”
I shrug. “Yeah. You’re a badass. You don’t take shit from anyone. You protect the people you love. You know things about Victorian literature. It’s all very sexy.”
She leans forward on her barstool. Her T-shirt tightens, showing the outline of her breasts. It’s just a simple white T-shirt, but from where I’m sitting, her outfit is bordering on obscene. “I think you’re sexy too.”
My body starts to vibrate. I skirt my hand over her waist and down her thigh. I just want to be closer to her. No matter how close I get, I want to be closer still.