Total pages in book: 67
Estimated words: 64727 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 324(@200wpm)___ 259(@250wpm)___ 216(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 64727 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 324(@200wpm)___ 259(@250wpm)___ 216(@300wpm)
Rafe blew a piece of hair from his eyes and stomped ahead of me into Bear Market. He made a beeline for the produce section and picked up a container of strawberries. He popped open the lid and examined the berries, did a double take at the price marked on the display, and quickly returned them to the shelf.
I rescued the strawberries, tossed them into the cart, and followed Rafe to the apples, where he was struggling with a biodegradable bag. I snatched the bag away, licked a finger, and easily opened it.
“Thanks, but you shouldn’t lick your fingers,” he said without heat.
I made a show of licking my palm to gross him out, snickering at his put-upon glower and the smile he couldn’t quite mask. “Out with it. What happened with Eli?”
“I used your line, modulated my voice so I didn’t sound overeager or creepy. Flawless execution if you ask me. But as I predicted, Eli asked what song reminded me of him. I pretended not to hear, but he wouldn’t let it go, so I blurted…”
“Jesus, don’t stop now. I’m on the edge of my seat,” I cajoled.
“ ‘Stairway to Heaven.’ ”
I groaned. “Oh, man. Mega cringe. Dude, that’s bad. And it’s my dad’s music. How do you even know that song?”
Rafe bristled, pushing the cart toward the organic produce section. “I’m well versed in popular music.”
“Try classic rock, my friend.”
“I know what it is! My coach back home loved Led Zeppelin. I did one of my first ever programs to one of their songs. But the truth is…” He averted his gaze to study the leaves on the red lettuce. “ ‘Highway to Hell’ was playing in the lobby and somehow, I managed to catch myself before I said that instead.”
I howled. I couldn’t help it. That was freaking hysterical. I made a mini production of strapping on my air guitar and rocking out in front of the tomato display.
Rafe leveled me with a deadpan stare as he filled the cart with a medley of veggies. I struck a pose with one last flourishing lick, shoved my phantom guitar aside, and got busy adding my own supply of fruits and vegetables.
“You’re building a mystery. Remember that. He doesn’t need to know everything you’re thinking. It’s enough to know that he crossed your mind.” I tossed a bag of carrots, celery, and two prepackaged salads on top of his measly bunch of red lettuce.
“Hang on. This—” Rafe motioned to the growing pile of produce in the cart. “—isn’t going to work. It’ll take forever to divvy up our food at the register. Let’s shop separately and meet outside afterward.”
“It’s all going to the same address. Don’t make it complicated.”
He frowned. “I’m not trying to be difficult, but I can’t risk going over budget.”
“Oh. Well…what’s your budget today?”
“Fifty dollars. And whatever I buy has to last a week.”
My eyes bugged out slightly. “A week? How is that possible?”
“Careful planning, willpower, and a separate budget for weekly splurges like my three large lattes at Coffee Cave, one pizza at Vincento’s, and one evening out with friends. If I spend all my funds here, I’ll have to forego a treat, and I’m not willing to do that.” Rafe stopped in front of the orange juice, mulling brand name prices. “As for Eli…I’ve embarrassed myself quite enough. If you’re still interested, he’s all yours.”
I grabbed two jugs of OJ and made room for them next to Rafe’s apples. “One for you, one for me. I owe you at least five more of these, so don’t argue. And I don’t want Eli, and this isn’t done till you find your balls and ask him out.”
“I know exactly where my balls are, you…caveman,” Rafe growled, deliberately running the cart over my foot.
“Ow. Jesus, you’re testy.” I steered us toward the cookies and chips aisle. “And you know I’m right. You’ll be mad at yourself if you don’t do it. Plus you’ll screw up the roommate game. If you give up on Eli, you’ll give up on me too, and before you know it, you’ll hate me again ’cause I’ll accidentally drink your juice and leave Oreo crumbs on the counter. Regular or Double Stuf?”
I held up both packages.
“Neither. Oreos are terrible for you,” he declared, crossing his arms. “They’re nothing but mass-produced sugar pills. I’m surprised you’d put them in your body.”
“My body loves Double Stuf…and ice cream. I work out. I can handle a few Oreos or ten.” I flexed my muscles to rile him up, but damned if he didn’t check me out.
And why did I suddenly feel warm and tingly?
“Get over yourself, Langley. But it’s your temple…fill it with crap as you see fit,” he said with a nonchalant shrug. “Okay. If you insist on making a game of it, I’m open to one more bit of advice. That’s it, though.”