Total pages in book: 103
Estimated words: 97875 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 489(@200wpm)___ 392(@250wpm)___ 326(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 97875 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 489(@200wpm)___ 392(@250wpm)___ 326(@300wpm)
Her eyes landed on her closet.
Maybe.
“I have an idea.”
He dragged his bottom lip through his teeth. “Skip to Thursday on the calendar?”
“Nope.” Ignore the way your skin is heating. “I’m going to let you read a page out of my diary. From when I was thirteen.”
“Shut up.” His jaw fell open. “I should make you feel guilty more often.”
“Don’t get too excited. You have to share something embarrassing with me, too.” She was careful not to brush their bodies together as she moved past him to the closet. “It’s a trust exercise.”
“Ah.” Robbie sighed dramatically. “If only I’d ever done anything embarrassing . . .”
“I’m sure you’ll dredge something up,” she said, while rummaging through a clear plastic storage container that held school projects dating back to middle school.
The bedsprings groaned as he sat down. “I’ll have to dig deep.”
“Doubt it,” she muttered.
“I heard that, Rocket.”
She almost—almost—apologized again for being so mean, but swallowed the sorry when she emerged from the closet to find him grinning and rubbing his hands together. “Are you picking the material? Or can I open to any random page?”
“Any random page will do. They’re equally humiliating, I’m sure.”
“Hand it over, girl. Let’s go.”
His visible excitement somehow made it easier than it should have been to hand over the small pink book. As soon as the diary was in his possession, Robbie cleared his throat as if preparing to deliver the Gettysburg Address and flipped to a section in the dead center. “June seventh, two thousand sixteen.” He smoothed a palm down the page filled with loopy blue printing. “Oh, we have some daisy doodles in the corner. Very nice.”
She slapped her hands over her face. “Shut up and read.”
“‘A lot of people have crushes on celebrities, but I feel like my crush on Kit Harington is totally different. I think if we met, he would get me. He would know I’m different. He would stop signing autographs and stare at me.’”
“Good lord.”
“Oh, it’s good all right.” He bit his lip to trap a laugh. “A Game of Thrones girl, were you?”
Skylar groaned. “How much longer is this page?”
The man was enjoying himself way too much. “Well, you have three lines of overlapping hearts here, which must be some kind of code. Heart heart heart heart heart heart heart. Am I pronouncing that right?”
“Just skip the hearts, smart-ass,” she said, picking up a pillow and hitting him with it.
“‘Kit would come to my softball game and everyone would be like OMG. My parents would just have to effing deal with it.’” Robbie lost it on that part, collapsing backward onto the bed with his sides shaking. “ ‘Kit would tell Elton to stop making fun of me. Or else.’ ” He closed the diary, biting his lip until it turned white. “Tragically, that’s the end of the page.”
“Thankfully, you mean.”
“You better hide this before I read the rest and make it my whole personality.” He made her tug on the diary three times before releasing it. “Are you ready for my embarrassing contribution? I managed to recall the one incident of my lifetime where I wasn’t obscenely cool.”
“Don’t leave me in suspense.”
He sat up and reached for his phone, which he’d left charging on the surface of her dresser. After a few moments of scrolling through his photo library, he handed her the device. “Mailer took this video of me in the shower.”
She snatched back her hand. “Whoa, whoa, whoa.”
“Relax, you won’t see anything.” He tossed the phone in her direction where it landed with a pfff on the bedding. “But let me know if you want to. A team shower sounds like a good trust building exercise, too.”
“Challenge yourself to not be gross for ten minutes.”
His only response was to grin and stack his hands beneath his head, turning himself into a muscle buffet right before her very eyes. Not to mention the very unmissable ridge raising the leg of his sweatpants. A popular dish, surely. Who wouldn’t pile their plate high with that—
“You going to hit play, Rocket?”
“What? Yeah.” She picked up the phone, chagrined to find her hand was a little sweaty. “I’m terrified, but here goes . . .”
It took a full ten seconds for Skylar to figure out what she was hearing.
“That’s you singing in the shower?”
“That’s me.”
Her mouth fell open, spine zipping straight. “Hold on, you’re actually kind of a good singer. How is this embarrassing . . . ?”
It finally registered that he was singing “Get’cha Head in the Game” from the original High School Musical soundtrack.
“Oh.” Skylar tumbled sideways onto the row of pillows, her breath knocked out of her in a whooshing laugh. “Ohhhh nooooo.”
He took the phone back, presumably hitting pause, because the sound of his passionate crooning no longer filled the air, though her eyes were too tear-filled to confirm.