Total pages in book: 114
Estimated words: 111165 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 556(@200wpm)___ 445(@250wpm)___ 371(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 111165 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 556(@200wpm)___ 445(@250wpm)___ 371(@300wpm)
Instead, we became friends. A few weeks after that show at The Joint, I saw her again at a show with her friend Naomi. I’m not even sure which girlfriend I had at the time. She wasn’t there, though, so after the show, even after Naomi and Jane left, Marina and I stayed at the bar and talked all the way until closing.
After that, we started hanging out more and more. I watched as she started keeping hives at a small farm in the valley, then moved to Havisham’s (my nickname for her landlord) and started keeping her own hives on the property. That soon turned into her own business as she not only harvested and sold honey, but was teaching classes, doing live hive removals—she even has her own hotline.
I’m proud of her for living her dream and I guess that’s one reason why we’ve bonded so well. While she was working hard and her career was rising, the same was happening for me.
That, and we’ve both had to deal with loss.
“Hey, man,” Scooby says, leaning against the door and munching on a cucumber. Just one long, very phallic-looking cucumber.
“Hey,” I tell him. “Good snack?”
He shrugs. “Cucumbers are great for rehydrating. Sometimes you have to ask yourself, am I drinking enough water?”
I look Scooby over, brows raised. Short and pale, with bug eyes and big teeth, Scooby gets attention wherever he goes, particularly because he’s fond of wearing top hats as a daily uniform and you can often find him riding a penny farthing up and down Venice Beach.
Despite living with him for the last three years, I still don’t know his real name or why people call him Scooby (it might have something to do with him being a major stoner), but he’s at least clean, pays the rent on time, and is a great source of entertainment.
He also reminds me of Marina in some ways, being this fathomless pit of random information, but less cute and more like the adult version of that kid from Jerry McGuire.
“Did you know,” he goes on, as if to prove my point, “that there can be a twenty-degree difference between the temperature outside and the inside of a cucumber? Hence the expression, cool as a.”
I get to my feet. “Tell me more about cucumbers,” I ask him wryly.
“That’s all I got,” he says. He munches some more. “I’m surprised to see you home. Thought you’d be at Simone’s.”
“We broke up,” I tell him.
He guffaws. Crunch. Crunch. “You mean you broke up with her.”
“Same difference, isn’t it?” I tell him, about to leave the room to get a glass of water, thanks to his talks about hydration, when my phone beeps with an incoming text.
It’s Marina.
I breathe out a sigh of relief. I thought that maybe she was avoiding me after what I proposed yesterday.
I pick up the phone, Scooby losing interest in me and wandering back down the hall, and read it.
Hey, wondered if you had time to talk.
I suck in a breath. Talk. If we were dating, this wouldn’t be a good sign.
What about?
She responds back right away: You know what.
Are you already breaking up with me? I text. A joke, but still.
LOL. No. The opposite.
Oh really…
Want to come over? I ask.
Sure. When?
Anytime. Now.
I’ll be there in an hour. Should I bring anything?
Just that gorgeous arse of yours, I write, then quickly erase it. Instead, I send:
Just you. See you then.
I put the phone back on the desk and immediately sit down in the chair, picking up the pen. A rush of euphoria goes through me, just a quick burst, but it’s enough for my pen to move.
There is a layer of terror under honey so sweet, the barb that always gets you when you plunge your hands in, sticky and raw with the promise of everything.
I sit back and glance at it. Not bad. Not great. But it’s something.
“Hi,” Marina says brightly as I open the door. She’s smiling but it’s a bit shaky, like she’s already nervous. Not that this would be an unusual state for her.
“Hey,” I say back, opening the door wider and gesturing for her to come in.
Damn. Maybe it’s in my head, but I swear there’s already this bizarre tension between us.
“Hey,” Scooby says to Marina from the kitchen. Somehow, he still has a cucumber. I’m guessing there are multiple. “Cucumber?” He sticks it out toward her in offering.
She frowns at him. “No thanks. Already had one.”
“I can slice it up for you, if you’d like.”
“I’m good,” she says, giving him a quick smile and then looking to me with a bemused expression. “Should we go somewhere private and talk?”
“Oh,” Scooby says loudly. “I didn’t know you guys needed, uh, privacy. Hey, I’ll be quiet. Really. I’m going to my room. You cats do whatever you need to do. There are more cucumbers in the fridge if you want.”