Total pages in book: 90
Estimated words: 91065 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 455(@200wpm)___ 364(@250wpm)___ 304(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 91065 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 455(@200wpm)___ 364(@250wpm)___ 304(@300wpm)
“What ingredients?” I say cautiously, already having googled the ingredients, but part of me knows that if I sound like a complete idiot who cannot be trusted . . . maybe, just maybe, she’ll take pity on me and come to my rescue.
“Dex!” She sounds as frustrated as I’m becoming. “Stop being lazy and just order the damn noodles, sauce, cheese, and meat. It’s not hard.”
I pull open the fridge, staring into its interior. “I have an open jar of sauce and a block of cheese I think is still good.”
“Right.” She is not impressed.
“How old is this ground beef? Or is this tofu. It’s a mystery package.” I turn it over, this way and that, trying to read the label.
There’s a long pause. “Dex. Order a freaking lasagna from Capitano’s, this isn’t hard.”
“Will they deliver it in, like, a pan?”
“A pan? Lasagna isn’t served in a pan.”
“But I need it to look like I made it myself.”
Carrie groans. “I don’t even want to know why.”
She doesn’t want to know why, but I’m going to tell her anyway. “I have a date, and I told her I could cook.”
Carrie snorts.
Chokes.
Begins laughing so loud—and so long—I hold my phone away from my ear to wait her out.
“Oh my God, I’m literally dying right now,” she gasps. “I can’t. You are not that guy.”
I am that guy.
“If I don’t produce a realistic, homemade-looking pasta dish, she’s going to think I lied.”
Another cackle and Carrie is lost to me again, laughing her ass off on the other side of town.
“Would you knock it off, this is serious,” I sternly tell her, frowning.
“Is it, though? Is it serious?”
“I hate you.” Why am I her friend?
“No you don’t, you’re just pouting because I don’t have time to drop everything and race over.” She wheezes. “What time is your date coming over?”
“Six.”
“Dude, it’s already four! You cannot make lasagna in this short amount of time! You’re going to have to order it, you have no other option. Unless you want to eat at eight. It takes forever to bake.”
Anytime Carrie calls me dude, I know she isn’t fucking around.
“Shit.”
“Yeah—shit is right. Order it and see what happens. Actually, does your date even eat? Most of them don’t.”
I scowl. “This one is a normal person, of course she’s going to eat.”
“A normal person? Like. Normal?”
“Yes. She’s a teacher, for your information.”
I tilt my chin, bragging to my friend that my date isn’t my typical type.
Carrie lets out a low whistle. “Wow. Seriously?”
“Yes. And she has kids.” Well, she has one kid, but that’s like having several.
“Holy shit. You’re being serious right now.”
Why would she think I wasn’t being serious?
“Oddly enough.” I laugh. “I’m flattered you find all of this so shocking.” I feel like it gives me an edge. Makes me cool.
Carrie hesitates. “Huh. Well. If she’s coming at six, you better quit screwing around and order that food before they don’t have what you need.”
True. “Okay, boss.”
“Good luck,” she mutters. “You’ll probably need it.”
Chapter 26
Margot
Holy crap—his house is huge.
I have no idea why I’m surprised.
He is, after all, a superstar athlete.
I keep forgetting that fact because while Dex is larger than life physically—he is literally a giant—he doesn’t act like the pompous ass I originally thought him to be.
But his house?
Has gates.
Wyatt would be crapping her pants right now if she saw this house.
I pull through after entering the gate code. They open slowly—automatically—and I ease my car over the pavers, which are brick.
The fact that someone younger than I am can afford a place like this is blowing my freaking mind.
For real.
I put the car in park, checking my reflection in the rearview mirror. Add lip gloss. Smooth a hand over my hair.
I catch sight of a man in a car parked across the street just before the gates slide closed again—it looks like he’s taking pictures.
My head shakes.
No, that can’t be.
I primp a few more seconds, stomach in knots before I push my car door open, and as I’m about to step out and put one foot onto the driveway, my cell phone begins chiming.
It’s Colton.
Dude has the worst timing . . .
He has Wyatt, so the alarm inside my brain goes off, mothering kicking into high gear.
“What’s wrong?” I ask as soon as I answer, resting back against the front seat, mindful that Dex could look out his front window at any moment and see me lingering in my car.
“Nothing’s wrong. Is this a bad time?”
A bad time? “Kind of, but go ahead.”
“What are you up to?”
“I . . .” I swallow. “I have a date, if you really need to know.”
He does not need to know.
In fact, Colton rarely inquires about how I’m doing or what I’m up to. He literally does not give a shit.
Sure he cares somewhat because I am the mother of his daughter, but . . .