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)
If he says so.
“Don’t look so surprised,” he says. “I thought you knew March was the biggest player in the family. Not me.”
Part of me wants to say that’s like comparing red apples to green apples. Despite his words, I’d never seen August Luck without a companion hanging on his arm. Until now. But I guess now he has me. Which is a ruse. Ugh. I don’t want to think about it anymore.
Resting my head on the back of the sofa, I blink up at the sky just beyond the roofline. “Where was I?”
“Sarah and Daniel had either banged or run off every other roommate with offers to bang?”
“Right. By this point, Sarah was tired of Daniel and didn’t want to hook up with him anymore. Apparently, this was fine by him, as he had an entire city of hot chicks to choose from. His words.”
August’s brow clouds. “He didn’t try anything with you, did he?”
A stray leaf drifts onto the cream fabric of the lounger. I flick it off. “He asked if I swung his way, and I said only with my fist if he tried anything. That was that. Anyway, he moved out a month after I got there, and I was glad for it.”
“And Sarah?”
“And Sarah what?”
He gives me a speaking look and patiently waits for my answer.
“There were a few feelers put out, but when I didn’t bite, she left it alone. Despite all the roommate shenanigans, she’s not actually pushy that way.”
August reaches down and picks up a football that had been under the coffee table. It looks downright small when he palms it in thought. His expression clouds. “Okay, you’re out of the revolving-bed-partner house, and will avoid what’s probably going to be another ugly blowup You’d already planned to move out anyway. So why are you upset?”
“She didn’t know that!” I lift my hands in irritation. “For all she knows, I’m a struggling college student with no place to go, and yet she just . . . booted me!” I deflate with a sigh. “I found it callous and hurtful, is all.”
Somehow, we’ve drifted until August’s shoulder rests against mine, our heads nearly touching. As if he’s done it all his life, August takes my hand in his. The connection is instant. Warmth flows through him and into me.
Thoughtfully, he spreads my palm and fingers out over the larger expanse of his own and studies the difference in sizes. Mine looks tiny in comparison, though thankfully not childlike. We both have long fingers, narrow palms. His is rough with calluses, taut with strength, while mine is soft and smooth.
Our breathing slows, each inhale, exhale matching. We aren’t doing anything more than pressing our palms together, and yet it’s as if he’s stroking along my neck, down the small of my back, up the inner edge of my thighs. My head lolls, the fall of my hair puddling on his shoulder.
His voice becomes low and warm. “It was shitty of her, Pen.”
Okay, maybe I’m not totally calm, because I still hear Sarah bluntly telling me I had to go play over in my mind.
“And here I was agonizing over how to leave the place.”
His hum is noncommittal. But I hear the way he’s struggling not to point out the irony all the same. Taking my hand back, I shoot him a repressive look. “I repeat, she had no idea I had another place to live. And—” I lift a finger for punctuation “—she rents because she likes the company not because she needs the money.”
August shifts around so that he’s resting on his side and facing me. His eyes glint with humor. But his tone is conspiratorial. “Do you want me to hold back the box seat pass I was going to give her?”
My heart trips. “You were going to do that?”
“Sure.” His gaze searches mine. “She’s your roommate and a huge fan. I thought it might ease the way when you announced your departure.”
Oh, God. Oh, God. Do not get misty-eyed.
I bite the corner of my lip. “No, no. Don’t do that. She’s not a bad person, really. Just . . . complicated.”
“I don’t like that she hurt your feelings.” August scowls down at the football and picks it back up. “I’ll give her the tickets, but she’s not getting the team hat.”
“You got her a hat?”
The bridge of his nose pinks again. He spins the ball in his palm. “Ah, no. The hat was . . . ah . . . for Edward.”
A beat of silence pulses between us. One in which August tries valiantly not to squirm or look my way, and I try not to melt into a puddle of goo next to him.
“August,” I breathe. “That’s so . . . sweet.”
“God, not the dreaded ‘so sweet.’”
“What’s wrong with being sweet?”