Total pages in book: 139
Estimated words: 133655 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 668(@200wpm)___ 535(@250wpm)___ 446(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 133655 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 668(@200wpm)___ 535(@250wpm)___ 446(@300wpm)
“It’d take a lot to kick you to the curb, Acer. Especially since I have to get over anything you do that makes me angry in fifteen minutes or less.”
“Believe it or not,” I hedge with a laugh, “I’m really working on trying not to make you angry with me at all.”
She smiles and pinches my cheek. “You have been very sweet lately.”
I push the button to call the elevator and, when it dings, hold the door for her to step inside. She digs in her purse to pull out her lip gloss—something she always does on the ride down to the lobby—and I swallow hard.
Her lips, her hair, her eyes, her smile. I can’t help but stare at every bit of it and wonder if I should just man the fuck up and tell her how I feel. I mean, maybe all this bullshit is dumb. Maybe Gunnar—as wild as this is to say—was right. Maybe I’m overcomplicating the hell out of a situation that doesn’t need complication at all.
I love her. I should just tell her.
“Julia?”
“Yeah?” she asks, her head still down as she replaces her lip gloss and digs through her purse until she comes out with her phone.
“Can you look at me for a sec?”
Her eyes jerk to mine at the seriousness of my tone, and I take her free hand—the one not holding her phone—in mine.
You can do this, Ace. You can do this.
“I… Well, see…I…”
“Yeah?”
“I just… I wanted to—”
Lady Gaga’s “Bad Romance” plays obnoxiously in the space with a sudden jolt of violence, and the screen of Julia’s phone lights up so hard it pierces the tenderness right out of my eyes.
She glances down at the screen, winces, and then apologizes while ripping her hand from mine to hold up a finger. “Sorry. It’s Drew. Just one second.”
Every vestige of the urge to confess my undying love takes a knife to the chest. The love may still be there, but the courage to confess it is currently receiving last rites on life support.
She babbles and chats to Dr. Weasel, and my brain fogs like it’s being fumigated. When she hangs up and looks back up at me, I startle.
“Sorry about that. What were you saying? It seemed like it might be important.”
I shake my head. “Don’t worry about it.”
“Are you sure? I’m sorry I even answered, but he’s about to get on a flight to Aruba. Family vacation.”
Suddenly perkier, I ask, “He’s going on vacation?”
“Yeah. For a week, I think. They do it every year before school starts, and he says his parents say it’s nonnegotiable that he keeps going until he’s married.”
I don’t give a shit about any of that—other than the fact that I’m about to have Julia to myself for the next week.
Operation Lost Puppy is just the beginning.
If this doesn’t work, my next move is to fake a coma, request her as my emergency contact, and hire a George-Clooney-looking actor to play my doctor and tell Julia the only way to bring me back to consciousness is to kiss me and tell me she loves me.
But it will work.
I don’t know what phase of the plan this is, but it’s a big one. Maybe a slightly emotionally manipulative pièce de résistance, but I have no doubt it will prove I’m responsible and kind and trustworthy and reliable and will one day make a killer anecdote in our wedding vows.
I casually guide Julia toward the exact place I mapped out yesterday in Central Park. It’s the perfect little spot, near the west-facing path, that has the best view of the skyline because the trees part like the gates of heaven.
Golden hour is about to hit, and Finn is in the bushes with a goldendoodle puppy I bought off a woman named Felicia on Long Island. Thankfully, Julia and I are only a few minutes away.
My phone buzzes violently in my pocket, and then it pretty much keeps buzzing so much that I pull it out and discreetly look at the screen while I continue to guide Julia where I need her to be.
Finn: Where the fuck are you?
Finn: It’s hot. I’m sweating. And this dog is staring at me like he knows I have no plan.
Finn: This is insane, Ace. Like really fucking insane. You know that, right? I already have enough to deal with, preparing to have all three of my brothers at Dickson this year, and yet, here I am, with a fucking dog, waiting for you in the middle of Central fucking Park
Finn: I don’t know how the fuck I let you get me into these situations.
Finn: I swear, if you don’t show up in 2 minutes, I’m naming him Todd and giving him to Scottie.
I text back one-handed while pretending to point something out on the skyline for Julia.