Fighting Words Read Online R.S. Grey

Categories Genre: Alpha Male, Contemporary Tags Authors:
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Total pages in book: 101
Estimated words: 97073 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 485(@200wpm)___ 388(@250wpm)___ 324(@300wpm)
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Plans? With who? The dog and the cat?

“Yes!” I respond, a little too enthusiastically. Then I tone it down as I add, “That’d be great.”

She jots down the details for me before I leave.

Back out on the street, I check my phone. Now that I have cell service, all the cumulated texts I’ve missed over the last day are piled up. I’m expecting hundreds. Y’know, friends in the city wanting to meet up for coffee, loads of people wondering where I am.

Come out with us!

Let’s hang!

Where have you been, girl?!

In reality, I only have three texts waiting for me. One from my mom, one from Andrew, and one from a spam number urging me to check my car’s extended warranty. I don’t even own a car.

My mom wants a progress report and an update for how things are going in England. I worry about you being so far away and without reliable cell service. This just seems like a recipe for disaster, Summer. I don’t see why you couldn’t have stayed in New York.

Andrew is shocked as well.

I can’t believe you’re in England. I tried calling you a few times but none of them have gone through. When you get this, call me back. Day or night, it doesn’t matter. I’d like to hear from you and I’m glad you texted me.

I head down the street. My eventual goal is to make it down to the grocery store Nate took me to yesterday, but I’m in no rush. All of a sudden, I have plans later and I need to kill time. There’s a lone coffee shop on Main Street that’s open. A few people are gathered around a table talking, and when I walk in, they look at me as if I have two heads. From everything I’ve heard, it’s rare to see a tourist here in the dead of winter. One of the women sitting at the table stands to take my order. I get a cappuccino then settle into a secluded spot in the corner.

Better than the coffee, the shop has reliable internet. Oh my god! I can check my email!

There’s music playing over the speakers, and the conversation near the front of the shop is lively enough that I don’t feel bad calling Andrew. I half-expect he won’t answer, but he does on the second ring.

“Summer. Hey.”

It feels good to hear his voice. Losing Andrew as a boyfriend has come second to losing Andrew as a friend. I didn’t realize how much I was missing him until now. A pang of homesickness nearly steals my voice.

“Hi.” I force the word out.

“England, huh?”

I smile. “England, yeah. How’s New York?”

He laughs. “Who cares about New York? Where are you?”

“The North Pole.” I laugh. “No really, I’m in a winter wonderland snow globe village. It’s crazy.”

“And you’re there for work? For an author? I don’t understand. Since when do editors fly overseas to work with authors? I thought it was a mostly remote job.”

“It’s a long story…”

The barista who took my order delivers my cappuccino to my table, and I mouth a thank you to her.

“Right. Do you have any idea when you’re coming back?” Andrew asks.

“Well, it depends on the project. InkWell didn’t give me a specific timeline.”

“That’s strange.” When I don’t agree, he prods me. “Don’t you think that’s strange?”

I rub the back of my neck. “It’s just a unique circumstance with this author.”

“What’s she like?”

Oh.

“Umm, he’s fine.”

Andrew isn’t the jealous type. Learning the author I’m working with is a man doesn’t even faze him. “Do I know him? Probably not. You know me, I stick mostly with non-fiction.”

“I’m not sure if I’m allowed to say. It’s not like a secret or anything.” I’m aware of the group sitting at the front of the shop, but none of them are paying me any attention. “It’s Nathaniel Foster, the guy who—”

“What?!”

I laugh nervously.

“Summer, that’s wild. Wow.”

“I haven’t done anything yet. Don’t sound so impressed.”

“Impossible. I mean, he’s a household name. How’d you get put on that project?”

I don’t want to tell him the truth: that I’m InkWell’s last resort. It’ll make the whole thing sound less important than it is, and this is the first time ever that Andrew has seemed supportive of my job. Up until now, he’s been on my family’s side.

It has always been Summer vs. everyone, especially during college. I was on track and studying pre-med, filling my schedule with organic chemistry and anatomy. I was definitely not supposed to be sneaking in English classes, joining writing clubs, fantasizing about majoring in something like art history or philosophy.

By my junior year, everyone was fed up with me. Emma sat me down at Thanksgiving while my mom was slow-roasting the turkey and making sous vide carrots and other culinary masterpieces. We went into the other room, Emma holding a glass of red wine delicately in her hand, never at all scared that she might drop it on my parents’ priceless silk rug.


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