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)
See? He was the worst! Gus even managed to ruin revenge.
Why did he have to be nice?
I focused on the yellowy liquid near the fridge and wrinkled my nose. “All I need is for you to clean this mess.”
“Already on it.” He lifted his mug. “After my java.”
My smile was tight and didn’t come close to being sincere, but Gus’s phone was going off and he was immediately distracted by a bigger name on the line. If history served, he’d forget this conversation within the hour. I’d have to remind him…repeatedly, and he’d undoubtedly still invite a bunch of friends over on Saturday.
Good. I kind of hoped he would.
“A yoga class?”
“No, a yoga retreat. An all-day, all-night affair with meditation, soft-spoken poetry, all-vegan appetizers and a juice bar. What do you think?” I rubbed my gloved hands together as I skated beside Celine. “That’s a rhetorical query, hon. We both know my genius is showing.”
Celine snorted, gracefully turning into a backward glide. “It’s inspired for sure and a fun idea, but…yoga retreats take lots of planning and money. You’d need quality instructors. Do you have any idea how much some of them charge? I’d estimate that their fee and the vegan bar alone would cost a thousand dollars.”
My jaw dropped. “A thousand?”
“Yep. Who would you invite, anyway?”
I closed my eyes briefly, opening them in time to veer away from Lola and Amber, our best solo dancers on the team…after Celine, of course. “I’m still hyperventilating over the phrase ‘costs a thousand dollars.’ Don’t do that to me.”
“Sorry, Rafey, but someone has to keep it real.”
“I know and I appreciate that and—” I snapped my fingers. “What about Penny? She’s a yoga girl.”
“Pilates.”
“Same difference.”
Celine frowned. “It’s not, but she does teach yoga at the Y. I bet she’d do it if she’s free. I’ll ask her. Jackson’s a great cook. He’ll help with food if we ask real nice.”
“This already sounds amazing,” I gushed, skating on my right leg as I lifted my left in an arabesque. “I can run a smoothie bar too.”
“I love your smoothies!”
“Thanks.” We raced along the perimeter of the rink, discussing smoothie flavors. Banana blueberry spinach, carrot juice and coconut, peanut butter banana kale…“I have a hundred dollars I can put toward this venture. Is that enough?”
“I don’t know. If Penny and Jackson agree to do it pro-bono for promotion purposes…maybe.” She threaded her arm through mine. “Rafey, I applaud your ingenuity. You know I do. But I have to ask…what do you get out of this?”
“A chance to confuse and befuddle my roommate,” I replied.
“That’s it?”
“That might sound like a small reward, but I’ll take what I can get. I’m tired of being on defense. I have to insert myself. I have agency, I have rights!”
Celine chuckled, pulling out of my reach to glide forward and spin. “Oh, my God, Rafe. You’re having a vigilante moment.”
Hey, I liked the sound of that.
“I am.”
“And you can kill two birds with one stone.”
I shaved ice as I came to an abrupt stop. “What do you mean?”
“Get back at your roomie and invite your crush over to continue your kinky pinky action.”
She skated away before I could muster an intelligent comeback.
But Celine was right. I obviously had a few details to work out—namely, how to get under Gus’s skin. I wanted him up to his eyeballs in yoga and kale smoothies, my mom’s Enya soundtrack, and Jackson’s vegan seven-layer tofu dip. Even if he only lasted ten minutes, I’d take it as a win.
Especially if Eli was there.
I scanned the rink, hoping for a glimpse of my crush in the crowd of figure skaters keeping up with their postseason training. No such luck. I’d text him later to issue a personal invitation. Maybe an activity with friends would put us both at ease and make it easier to move beyond pinky sex.
Two birds, one stone. Perfect.
CHAPTER 5
GUS
I’d been sober for a week. No alcohol, nothing to dull my senses or drown out the voices in my head.
It had been a rough few days. The hangover from hell had lasted a solid forty-eight hours. My brain had banged against my skull like a hammer, and it had taken my stomach a little extra time to get on board with anything other than toast or bland turkey sandwiches. It was almost as if I’d been recovering from a terrible flu.
Not gonna lie, it had freaked me out.
But the listlessness and general blah feeling had dissipated, and by midweek, I’d felt more like myself. The unmedicated me who was fidgety as fuck, smiled too wide, and carried a restless energy that seemed to amuse or alarm the general public.
I’d forgotten how irritating it was to constantly manage my words and reactions. Tone it down and be chill warred with Don’t zone out…no matter how boring this asshole is in my head.