Total pages in book: 100
Estimated words: 100612 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 503(@200wpm)___ 402(@250wpm)___ 335(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 100612 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 503(@200wpm)___ 402(@250wpm)___ 335(@300wpm)
I don’t warn him to be careful as he sidles up next to me; it would serve him right to have the front of his khaki pants water-stained, too. If anyone deserves a matching stain, it’s him.
Sure enough, the moment his thighs brush against the counter, water seeps into the fabric—just as I hoped it would.
“What the—” He looks down, his grin vanishing as a dark stain spreads across his thigh. “Dude! Are you kidding me?”
“Only the cool kids pee their pants.” I laugh, shoving him toward the hand dryer. “Karma is a bitch.”
He awkwardly tries to position his thigh under the weak blast of air, grumbling the entire time. “This thing is useless. It’s blowing like…three molecules of air per second.”
“Yeah, I noticed,” I say, pretending to inspect my tie in the mirror as the dryer sputters and dies mid-puff, leaving my friend crouched in front of it in stunned silence.
He scowls, stepping away from the machine. “I give up.”
Good idea.
“What were you actually doing in here? Taking a dump?”
This fuckin’ guy. “No. I was…rehearsing how I’m gonna ask Harper to dance. And apologize.” I have several things to atone for but do not know how to make them right.
I bite the inside of my cheek, thinking.
Marcus nods his approval, reaching around me to grab a paper towel and dry his hands. “Yeah—Harper has been third-wheeling it with us all night. Which is fine. But I’d like some alone time with my girlfriend. The night’s been meh, if I’m being honest. I’d love to bounce, but…”
“Are you saying the dance is lame?”
“No. I’m saying it’s not as much fun as I thought it would be. Macy is bored—we’re only staying because of Harper.”
The gears in my brain begin turning.
She deserves more than an apology; she deserves proof that I like her—the way she likes me. She deserves a night to remember, and it does not start with a slow dance.
Something bigger than my wasted words.
What I need is a grand gesture.
“I’m not joking,” Marcus blathers on, crossing his arms. “Just go out there, say something semicoherent, and ask her to dance. Worst case? She says no. Best case? You stop being the human embodiment of a wet napkin and have a good time.”
He will not shut his yap.
I scowl, swatting his words away like an annoying mosquito.
“Bro, would you shut up? Stop talking,” I tell him curtly, my brain sparking to life with an idea that’s so over-the-top outrageous it makes me want to puke in the trash can. The idea is that good. For real.
“Why would I want to stop talking?”
“ ’Cause.” A grin creeps across my face. “I have an idea.” I’m feeling so pleased with myself. “Don’t know if it’ll work yet, but if it does, I may need your help.”
“Dude, yes!” He fist pumps, lighting up like a kid on Christmas morning. He’s pumping the air with so much enthusiasm, I have secondhand embarrassment for him. “Yes! I’m in, whatever it is. No questions asked.”
“You never ask questions.” I roll my eyes at the same time I fish my phone out of my back pocket. “That’s what always gets you in trouble.”
“Ouch. That stings a little. But also: True.” He has no shame.
My thumb hovers over the contact before I press it with the kind of determination reserved for people on game shows about to risk everything.
“Wait,” he says, leaning over to peek at the screen. “Who are you calling? I thought I was the wingman in this plan.”
I shake my head. “First I have to call the one person who’ll know how to help.”
Phoebe.
Chapter 38
Harper
“I’m here to whisk you away.”
Whisk me away?
We are at a dance—there will be no whisking!
And!
Easton cannot stroll over to me all casual-like and pretend that everything is okay, that nothing happened, that he does not have a date tonight. He has explaining to do and will not easily be forgiven.
“You want to whisk me away?” I ask. “I just got here.”
Still. My eyes widen with shock. Easton Westermann stands before me, hands jammed in his pockets, looking as handsome as I’ve ever seen him in his navy blue tux. So handsome. In fact, I can’t take my eyes off his shoulders; the cut of the jacket emphasizes how broad they are and makes my heart ache.
I’ve felt those shoulders. Have run my hands all over them…
My gaze dips to his tie—pink, with tiny white daisies embroidered on it. It’s a fantastic choice, playful and unexpected.
It matches my dress.
The realization sends a ripple of heat through my body, a smug satisfaction that I can’t suppress. My lips curve in a victorious smile as my eyes flick over the tie again. It doesn’t match Maddie’s light blue dress. Not even a little.
It feels like the choice of color was meant for me—not for her, not for anyone else. Me. And that thought feels as wonderful as it is surprising, and fills me with butterflies.