Total pages in book: 97
Estimated words: 94279 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 471(@200wpm)___ 377(@250wpm)___ 314(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 94279 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 471(@200wpm)___ 377(@250wpm)___ 314(@300wpm)
“What happened?”
“Well, the first time I made it to the front door, but I couldn’t bring myself to go in. The second time, I went in and spoke to one of the women who worked there. She took the dress out of the bag to look at it and a woman who was shopping walked over and asked if it was available for sale—she wanted to try it on. I pretended to get a call and rushed out. I couldn’t part with it.”
“What’s the attachment? The dress, the dream, or the douchebag?”
That made me smile. “You’re asking a really good question. I’m over the douchebag, but I’m not sure if it’s giving up the dress or my dreams that upsets me more. Maybe it’s a little bit of both?”
“You can dream new dreams. Ones that are bigger and better.”
I sighed and nodded. “Or maybe it’s time I live in the land of reality. But let’s not talk about my issues. I want to hear more about your team.”
Wilder’s eyes lit up as he spoke about all of his plans and ideas. He rambled for a solid twenty minutes before coming to a lull. “Sorry.” He smiled. “I was babbling. You’re probably dying to eat just so I’ll shut up for a few minutes.”
“Not at all. I find you inspiring. It’s a reminder that I used to have goals of my own that didn’t link my happiness with my love life.”
“Like what?”
“I wanted to be an author, write books. I used to love my job, but I went to school for journalism and creative writing.”
“What kind of books would you write?”
“Honestly, probably romance. It’s all I read. Well, that and…” I looked over at a stack of books on the kitchen shelf. “Self-help books.”
“You were reading one of those the night I came to your office. Do they work?”
“Sometimes when I’m reading them, I get invigorated by the ideas and outlook they have. It’s sort of like getting a pep talk from the coach before a game.”
“I can relate to that.”
I nodded. “Except after it’s over, you probably kept the excitement you felt by playing in the game. An hour or two after I shut the book, I forget everything I just read.”
“So play the game after the pep talk,” he suggested. “Start writing the book you always wanted to write.”
“I guess … Maybe.”
“I should be your coach, encourage you to follow your dreams. But selfishly, I also want to have a reason to see you every month, so you can’t quit your current job anytime soon.”
The front door burst open. Lucas and Olivia were laughing and talking like the best of friends. They offered us a chin lift and disappeared into another room.
I pointed. “Who were those happy children?”
Wilder shrugged. “Fuck if I know.”
* * *
“I won my sixth-grade spelling bee,” Lucas said. “Wilder has a tattoo on his ass. And Wilder is so afraid of clowns, he once pissed himself at the circus.”
“I did not piss myself. I spilled my drink.”
Lucas cracked up. “Because you jumped out of your seat when that clown came near you. That counts as pissing yourself.”
Wilder grumbled and shook his head. “I thought the truths and lies we told playing this game were supposed to be about ourselves.”
Lucas smirked. God, he really looked like his older brother. I glanced over at Olivia, who was currently gazing at the boy much the way I looked at Wilder. I wasn’t the only one with a little crush.
Lucas pointed to me. “You go first. Which is the lie, Sloane?”
“I’m going to say … Wilder has a tattoo on his ass is the lie.”
Lucas pointed to Olivia. She smirked. “He definitely looks like he could have an ass tattoo. I’m going with Lucas didn’t win the spelling bee.”
Wilder grumbled and gestured across the table at Olivia. “I’ll vote with her.”
My eyes widened. “You have an ass tattoo?”
“Show it to ’em.” Lucas nudged his brother with his elbow. “Come on, show it to ’em.”
“I think I’ll pass on taking down my pants in front of a fourteen-year-old girl. Thanks, Lucas. People get arrested for that.”
I couldn’t stop laughing. This board game had turned out to be more fun than I’d thought, even if I was the only one whose game piece was still stuck at start. It was sort of like two truths and a lie, except when you guessed correctly, you moved your piece forward a few spaces.
“It’s your turn, Aunt Sloane.”
“Oh gosh. I’m going to sound boring after an ass tattoo.” I looked over at Wilder. “You better tell me what it is later.”
He winked. “I’ll show you.”
I wasn’t sure how many hours we played, but I couldn’t remember the last time I’d laughed so hard for so long. My face actually hurt a little. Eventually Wilder looked at his watch. “It’s almost midnight. We should probably get going. We have an early flight in the morning.”