Total pages in book: 86
Estimated words: 81076 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 405(@200wpm)___ 324(@250wpm)___ 270(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 81076 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 405(@200wpm)___ 324(@250wpm)___ 270(@300wpm)
“Good.” She takes a slow sip of her wine, watching me over the rim before setting it down with a nod. “That’s nice. I love Pinot.”
“I can’t take any credit for the selection,” I confess, digging into my meal. “Melissa gave me a case of a bunch of different kinds of wine for Christmas last year. She’s the food and wine expert. I’m the handy twin who builds things and likes fast cars.”
“And a genius,” she says. “Don’t you speak like…three languages?”
“Five,” I say, embarrassed by the disclosure, the way I always am. People are always so impressed, but it seems wrong to take too much credit for something that’s always come easily to me. “But that’s just because my brain is good at that sort of thing. I didn’t do much better in math or science than the other honor roll kids and not nearly as well as Barrett or Wes. They’re the real geniuses.”
“I didn’t make the honor roll a single time in high school,” she says as she delicately skewers a few green beans on the tip of her fork. “B and C student all the way. I was too busy making elaborate costumes for Halloween and every school dance to waste time studying or put too much effort into my research papers.”
I nod as I chew and swallow. “See, just goes to show making the honor roll doesn’t mean shit as far as what a person will do in the long run. You’re probably more successful than every honor roll nerd in your class combined.”
“I wouldn’t say that. I do okay, but only because I work like a crazy person and have always been obsessed with predicting trends.” That almost…suspicious look creeps back into her eyes again. “What about you? Ever been into fashion?”
I shake my head with a soft laugh. “Um, no. I have a bespoke suit I wear when I have to be extra presentable. Other than that, I’m a jeans and t-shirt kind of guy.”
She smiles, seemingly pleased by this revelation. “I like jeans and t-shirts.”
I arch a brow. “I think this is the first time I’ve seen you in something other than a dress or an elaborate getup with matching accessories.”
Her smile widens. “Right. I meant for you. I like jeans and t-shirts for you. For me, I like as much fancy as I can tastefully fit on my body at one time. Life’s too short not to get as fancy as often as you want to get fancy.”
“Agreed.” I chew and swallow another bite, fighting to keep the rest of what I want to say to myself. But in the end, I can’t help adding, “And you always look like a million bucks, so…”
She pauses with her fork halfway to her lips, cocking her head. “Really? Then why do you have such an easy time ignoring me, Matthew? I mean when I’m not in mortal danger or interrupting your drug deals, of course.”
“I’ve never been part of a drug deal,” I counter. “And ignoring you isn’t easy. Trust me. You’re the most stunning woman I’ve ever seen in real life.”
She blinks, seemingly genuinely surprised by the revelation.
“But we’re on different paths,” I continue. “Trying to be something more than friends seemed…unwise.”
“Are we even friends, though?” she asks. “I know so little about you. I wouldn’t even know you raced cars or were still planning to leave for South America before the end of the year if I didn’t keep my ears open when people talk. I don’t know what your favorite food is or your favorite color or if you’ve ever had a boyfriend.”
I look up sharply, my bite of pot pie falling off my fork. “What?”
“A boyfriend,” she repeats, pinning me with a piercing look. “It’s not a big deal if you have. I have tons of gay friends and bi-friends and friends who are only gay for Anderson Cooper.”
“Anderson Cooper?” I echo, even more confused.
“Yeah,” she says, without missing a beat. “He’s a brilliant, well-spoken, classy, hard-hitting journalist who balances being a silver fox with a slightly bitchy sense of humor. He’s the entire package and was so cute on that one New Year’s Eve broadcast where he had a few too many shots. But if I were gay, I obviously wouldn’t be gay for him. I’d be gay for Abby Wambach because she’s that magical mixture of confident athlete and squishy sweetheart, who’s also smoking hot.”
“And for a long time, she was the highest international scorer of all time,” I offer, citing the only thing I really know about the soccer star.
Nora waves a hand. “Don’t care about that. I love the swagger of athletes and how comfortable they seem in their skin. That’s the sexy part. I don’t really care about their sports ball stats, and I will never understand what ‘off-sides’ is.” I pull in a breath, but she points a finger at my face. “If you try to explain it to me, I’ll have to stuff my napkin in your mouth and pelt you with the peas from my pot pie. Don’t even try it.”