Total pages in book: 140
Estimated words: 135539 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 678(@200wpm)___ 542(@250wpm)___ 452(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 135539 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 678(@200wpm)___ 542(@250wpm)___ 452(@300wpm)
“It’s August.”
August chokes on his water. Badly.
He covers his mouth and coughs as March bellows an outraged, “What!”
I shrug and neatly cut a slice of roasted potato. “August is the most attractive to me. No offense, ladies. You’re more beautiful by far. But if I’m going for flat-out attractiveness, then it’s got to be August.”
May and June start to laugh. Margo sits back, looking pleased. While August turns an interesting shade of red. He finally lifts his head. That ice-blue gaze of his cuts like a knife when it slashes into mine. He doesn’t say anything. He simply stares at me like I’ve grown another nose. I smile at August. With teeth.
“Oh, come off it,” March protests. “My jawline is definitely superior—”
“Nope,” I say. “It’s not.”
“It so is,” March says. “And my eyes are definitely prettier.”
“Sorry, Hairball—” an old nickname he hates “—but you asked, and I answered.”
March sits back in a huff muttering about fixed games and unfair judges.
Still August stares at me. Flummoxed.
I stare back. Nice teeth indeed. Victory bubbles through my veins like champagne. For the first time in my life, I haven’t been reduced to a bumbling, blushing mess when put on the spot. It feels so nice, I don’t know how to fully process it.
It all crashes down when August’s mouth curls in a soft, slight smile. His voice, when he finally speaks, is a low rumble that touches my skin like a hot finger. “For what it’s worth, Penelope, I think you’re the most attractive person here as well.”
All that fuzzy, fizzy champagne victory explodes in a riot of blushing butterflies. August Luck just said I was the most attractive person in the room. Me. Pen. I’m the most— Wait. I’m the only person in the room he’s not related to.
I deflate with as much grace as an untied ballon let loose.
August
“How could you hurt Pen’s feelings like that?”
May’s irate question and hard poke at my ribs has me yelping. Can’t a man do the dishes in peace without his little sister popping up at his side like a Whac-A-Mole to attack him? I swear, the girl can get the jump on me better than any linebacker.
My heartbeat returns to normal, and her words sink in.
“Wait. What?” I set down a soapy platter before it drops. “What the hell are you talking about?”
May glances back toward the great room before answering in a hissing undertone. “That crack about finding her the most attractive person in the room? Not cool.”
My skin feels too tight and too hot. It has since dinner and that unfortunate round of Mirror, Mirror. Fucking March. He always goes too far. But me?
I blink down at a glaring May.
“What the hell are you talking about? What’s ‘not cool’ about saying I find her attractive?”
Let’s be real. It was a hell of a lot more sincere than her answer, which I can guess was to put March in his place. Not that I don’t approve; anytime someone can accomplish taking his huge ego down a peg, I’m all for it. But I don’t want to be the weapon used to do it. Just remembering Penelope’s little statement of “fact” made me twitchy.
May huffs in exasperation. “August, she’s the only person in the room not related to you! It would be full-on weird if you said anyone else.”
What?
Oh.
Right.
Shit.
Was that why she seemed to wilt? Put that forced smile in place? I couldn’t figure it out at the time. But now?
I rub a hand over my face and then flinch when I realize it’s wet and soapy. Scowling I accept the dish towel May tosses me. “I didn’t mean it like that. I was trying to be nice.”
“Patronizing is what it was.”
Turning back, I concentrate on scrubbing the platter. But my guts feel like lead. “Honestly, May. That wasn’t my intention.”
“Well, then . . .” She peers at me with cool eyes. “If you say so, then I guess . . .”
“I should apologize to her.”
“No!”
“Jesus, woman. My ears.”
She sets a fluttering hand on my arm, as if to forestall any attempt I might make to leave the room, and her voice goes back to the stage whisper she’s been using since sneak attacking me. “Just. No. That would make it even more awkward.”
“I don’t see how. You just told me I’ve made her feel like crap. I can’t let that go.”
“I shouldn’t have said anything to you.”
I give her a speaking look, then hand her the clean platter to dry off. “But you did.”
“Just forget it.”
“Not likely.”
“Damn it, Augie.” She huffs, glances back to make sure we’re still alone. “I wasn’t thinking, okay? If you hunt her down to say sorry it will embarrass her even more.”
“Why? I’m the one who’d be apologizing.” I wouldn’t exactly call that an embarrassing endeavor, but uncomfortable sure. How would I even go about it? Sorry, Penelope, but I really do think you’re gorgeous. You’re so pretty it hurts to look at you, which pisses me off in ways I don’t understand. So can you kindly leave before I do something to make it even more awkward?