Total pages in book: 97
Estimated words: 93785 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 469(@200wpm)___ 375(@250wpm)___ 313(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 93785 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 469(@200wpm)___ 375(@250wpm)___ 313(@300wpm)
There’s just one question that remains, and I can’t answer it. Or maybe I’m afraid to. What’s in this for him?
The question plagued me all afternoon and followed me into the evening. When most guys want to date me, I know exactly what they’re after, and I’m more than happy to deliver. Honestly, I’m usually in it for the same reasons. But with Drake, I’m not sure what he wants to get out of this aside from the obvious: ratings.
“He’s clever,” I say, pushing the brush a little too hard against the canvas. “He said on air that he wants to prove that my approach to relationships is wrong because I only date losers, essentially. But that’s to my benefit. My show will reap those rewards. The only benefit that I can see him getting out of this is numbers. His stats this week will be incredible. He’s tapping into a new demographic because my podcast is basically a free hunting ground for him. And when we’re neck and neck for the Thursday slot, I have to assume that’s his takeaway.”
“Wow. I didn’t think of it like that,” Astrid says.
“Me either,” Audrey says, sighing.
I add some yellow paint to my used egg carton and dab my brush into it.
Today has been a roller coaster of emotions, and I haven’t had time to sort it all out. Every high was chased by a low, only to be followed by another high. It’s exhausting, even for me as someone who admittedly loves drama. I had to turn off my phone before I left the office. Incessant calls, constant text alerts, ceaseless chirps notifying me of Social comments and messages. It was all too much—especially since I don’t know what to say for once.
“Playing devil’s advocate here. What would you say if he isn’t doing it just for ratings?” Audrey asks. “How would you feel about that?”
I switch back to the red paint. “It would depend on what his objective is, I guess. Is he just wanting to have fun? Great. There are a million ways in which I can imagine fun with that man. Is he looking at it like a science experiment? That’s … not as fun.” I study the art in front of me. “Either way, I don’t think he’s being exploitative. He’s not that kind of guy.”
“Are you going to go on dates?” Astrid asks. “Have you talked to him?”
“He said he’d text me before he left, but that was the last that I’ve heard from him. I guess we’ll go on dates. How serious is he about that? Are we monogamous for the next month and a half? Is that even necessary?” I shrug because I simply don’t know.
Audrey glances at my phone on the coffee table. “Your phone is off. Do you know that?”
“Yup.”
“Well, you can’t hear from him if you literally can’t hear from him.” She giggles.
I just need a little time to get my thoughts together before I deal with Drake.
Astrid groans. “I wish I were in Nashville. I should be there with you guys.”
“When are you guys coming back to town?” I ask, creating an arch with the brush over a yellow blob.
“We’ll be back in January for the rugby season,” Astrid says. “But we do have a few meetings up there soon, so we’ll make a long weekend out of it so I can spend some time with you guys.”
“You can stay with me,” I say, etching a few trees into the paint with the back of my brush. “I have three extra bedrooms. Tell Gray to bring his cowboy brother. He can share my room with me.”
“You’d kill Hartley, Gianna,” Astrid says, laughing.
I laugh, too. “I’d be sure that he went out with a smile.”
“You’d better clear that with your new boyfriend.” Audrey picks up her phone.
“Hey, where are you taking me?” Astrid asks.
I look over my shoulder as Audrey props Astrid against a pillow on the couch. Then she reaches for the box Lucia sent. I told Audrey to open it earlier, but Astrid called, and we got distracted.
“Why do you have a proofing basket?” Audrey asks, pulling things from the container. There’s a basket, a couple of oddly shaped tools, and what looks like bonnets. “Are you into baking all of a sudden?”
“What the hell is that stuff?”
“This is a proofing basket for sourdough,” she says. “These are liners and covers for it. You have a scoring lame, a dough whisk, and a bowl scraper.”
I wrinkle my nose and set the egg tray on a bench I carried in from the garage. “I thought bread making was supposed to be easy.”
“I’ve been baking bread for Gray.” Astrid beams. “I did a cherry chocolate chip loaf the other day. And I did a pistachio brown sugar loaf for Hartley. He said it was the best bread that he’s ever eaten.”