Total pages in book: 129
Estimated words: 125257 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 626(@200wpm)___ 501(@250wpm)___ 418(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 125257 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 626(@200wpm)___ 501(@250wpm)___ 418(@300wpm)
We play a few more rounds, the air a little softer, the sun a little warmer. Thor wakes up as Remy tackles the question of whether she’s ever used a fake ID—the answer is a defiant no. The cat jumps from the sill and sashays past the unfinished cat tower and me to my bedroom as Remy asks one more question: “How are you really right now?”
I’m nothing but truth as I say, “Fantastic.”
Once Thor and his white paws are out of sight, she sets down the cards, checking the clock in the kitchen—a wooden owl cutout with moving eyes. “I don’t want to cut too close to your nap. Do you want me to check out your suits?”
And I’m honest, too, as I say yes.
26
MY, YOUR CLOSET IS SO BIG
REMY
I have serious closet envy. It’s not the size of Lake’s closet though. It’s the organization. Every single thing is neatly arranged. Dress shirts hang crisply on metal rods, wingtips and sneakers alike rest on clean white shelves. Cubbies display pristinely folded shirts and workout shorts. A small wooden watch box sits open on a shelf, showing off a velvet padding cradling several watches.
“I didn’t think you’d be so neat,” I say, looking around.
He scoff-laughs. “You’ve been in my car. It’s not messy.”
“True, but I guess I wasn’t expecting this,” I say, though I’m not entirely sure why.
“You’re the one who once said I was—your words—adorably, superstitiously organized. Why did you think I’d be a slob?”
He’s got me there. I did say that about his pre-game superstitions. “I didn’t think you’d be a slob. Just…chaotic.”
He arches a brow, looking like he doesn’t want to let this go. It almost feels like we’re still playing The Naked Truth. Like this matters deeply to him. “Why?”
I consider him before I answer. His hair is neat. His beard is trimmed. His clothes are never adorably rumpled. His home is clean. “I’m honestly not sure.”
He hums, low in his throat. A doubtful sound.
“What’s that for?” I ask.
“You know why you thought I’d be messy.”
“I honestly don’t,” I say.
He pins me with a knowing stare. “Because you think we’re opposites.”
I stop everything for a second, standing still. I feel a little see-through. “Maybe I did think so for that reason. You like surprises. I don’t. You’re decisive. I turn things over twenty thousand times. You go with the flow. I take copious notes.”
“And yet, we both have neat closets,” he says, entirely amused now.
“Hey, were you spying in mine?” I counter.
“Yes. Remy. I was super focused on the shelves and all the folded sweaters that day.”
The memory of that haircut, and looking in the mirror after, sends a dart of lust down my spine, and I lick my lips, then glance around at the glorious organization in here. “I guess you surprised me then,” I say softly. “But maybe it’s a good surprise that you’re so neat.”
My attention returns to the watches. They glint in the light. “These are from your watch sponsor?”
“Yeah. Victoire gave them to me,” Lake tells me, a little apologetic, like he’s embarrassed he has an endorsement. Or more likely that they give him such expensive goodies.
“They’re gorgeous,” I say, hovering my fingers near a shiny silver watch, then a matte one that’s subtly classic.
“That’s titanium,” he says. “Supposed to be lighter, hypoallergenic, good for diving.”
“You dive?”
“No interest. Too slow.”
I shudder at the thought of being underwater for so long. “You’d never catch me diving either.”
“See? Not opposite.”
I shake my head. “Definitely opposite. It’s not the speed. It’s that I don’t like activities with a high chance of death. Skiing, diving, bungee jumping…”
He laughs. “Scuba diving is actually low risk.”
I turn to him, pressing my finger to my lips. “Shh. It seems like it has a high chance of drowning, so let me believe that it does. Also, there might be snakes underwater.”
He cracks up. “That’s pretty rare in places where you’d scuba dive.”
“But it’s not out of the realm of possibility.”
“You have me there,” he says, still chuckling.
“But it is a nice watch,” I say while studying the elegant look and style of the timepiece. “It’s seriously pretty.”
“You can touch it,” he says, urging me on. “They’re supposed to be worn.”
“You don’t wear them,” I point out. “I’m not sure I’ve ever seen you with one.”
“Checking out my wrists, Remy?”
Well, lately I have been. His forearms. Dear god, his forearms. “Yes, all the time. Wondering why you don’t wear a watch,” I tease, since it’s easier than admitting I catalogue every detail of my fake boyfriend.
“No need. I mean, the time is fucking everywhere,” he says, and that’s so Lake. A thing should be functional for him.
He reaches past me, his strong arm brushing mine, making my skin spark, my heart jump. I swallow as he grabs the titanium watch, tugs it from the velvet box, and flicks the clasp open, dangling it in front of me.