Total pages in book: 97
Estimated words: 96292 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 481(@200wpm)___ 385(@250wpm)___ 321(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 96292 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 481(@200wpm)___ 385(@250wpm)___ 321(@300wpm)
I tap my chopsticks against my lips. “He’s …”
“Hot?” she asks.
“Well, yes. But that’s not it.”
“Rich?”
“I already told you, I don’t think he’s rich. But I don’t need a rich man.”
“Says no one. Marry rich. It’s one less thing you’ll have to fight about.”
“Flynn feels messy.”
“Messy?” Ally laughs. “I don’t know anyone in their right mind who actively pursues messy.”
“He says he’s never dated,” I say.
“He’s a liar. You’re right. That’s messy. And it’s a red flag. Let me save you the heartache and just tell you now—you can do better.”
I set my half-eaten carton of fried rice on the coffee table. “Well, if he’s not a liar, then he’s unlike any guy I've ever met. He’s handsome. Confident, but not arrogant. His smile makes me feel giddy. But I swear it’s his humor that I can’t get enough of. It’s kind of a dry humor, but I get it.”
“I still don’t have a good feeling about him, but if you insist on learning everything the hard way, then just text him. That’s allowed, you know?”
I pick up my phone next to my Chinese food. After staring at it for several seconds, as if I can will him to call me, I sigh and stand. “You’re right. It’s not like texting him makes me look desperate. I’m not desperate. I’m just going to call him so I know if he’s blowing me off or just dead.”
“Just dead?” Ally chuckles.
I start to text Flynn but change my mind and call him instead as I head to my bedroom.
“Hey, June,” he answers.
“So you do remember me,” I say.
“Of course. I was going to call you, but—”
“Save it. I’ve heard all the excuses.” I close the bedroom door and hop on my walking pad by the window because I think better when I’m moving. “In fact, I’m only calling to tell you not to worry about calling me.”
“Oh. Uh … so let me get this straight. You just called to tell me not to call?”
“Exactly.”
“I see. Well, since you called, then I don’t have to. We can just make plans now.”
“No plans. I think you’re bad for me.”
“Trust me. You’re much worse for me than I am for you,” he says.
“Wait. What?” I increase the speed on my walking pad to compensate for the extra energy his words give me. “How can I possibly be bad for you?”
“I’ve slept like shit for the past week because I’ve been thinking about you.”
I can’t stop the thrill that runs through me even though I don’t want to feel this. Not yet. He hasn’t earned it. “Seems like a line of BS since all you had to do was call me.”
“I couldn’t ask you out again until I got paid. Now that I’ve been paid from my last week at my previous job, I can take you to dinner or whatever you want to do.”
It’s whiplash. The thrill dies, and I have to slow my pace. This is a first—a guy who’s had to wait for a paycheck just to take me out. Flynn doesn’t have to tell me this. He could make up an excuse.
He’s been busy.
His dog died.
He caught the flu.
“I could have paid for us to go out,” I say.
“Oh, sure. You’re right. I should have called and asked you to take me to dinner. What was I thinking?”
I open my mouth to tell him to swallow his pride, but I think he already did in order to tell me the truth.
“You still there?” he asks.
“Uh, yeah. Sorry. I was just thinking.”
“What were you thinking?”
I don’t know why I’m trying to hide my grin. He can’t see me. I love this feeling. Butterflies. Intrigue. Euphoria.
“I was thinking we should take a walk,” I say.
“A walk?”
“Yeah. A walk around the lake.”
“Then what?”
“I don’t know. We’ll figure it out.”
“Well, I work tomorrow. But they usually run out of things for me to do by three.”
“Perfect. My last tour ends at three, so let’s meet at four.”
“I could pick you up,” he says.
“Of course, you could. I’m pretty light.”
“Ha. Ha. You know what I mean.”
My face hurts from grinning. Is Flynn Morley the version of “normal” I’ve been searching for?
Chapter Eight
Flynn
I don’t hate my job. I just don’t understand it.
One day, I’m mowing the lawn and trimming the hedges. The next, I’m taking Callie to see a movie—with goddamn subtitles. A dyslexic’s nightmare.
She doesn’t seem depressed or suicidal. Of course, I don’t know what that would look like. If anyone had a reason to feel that way, it would be me. There’s no way she’s been through anything like I’ve experienced. I’ve wanted to hurt people, maybe even kill a few. But through all the pain and feelings of abandonment, I’ve never once thought about ending things.
“I’ve always wanted a cat,” Callie says on the way to the car after the movie.