Total pages in book: 81
Estimated words: 77018 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 385(@200wpm)___ 308(@250wpm)___ 257(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 77018 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 385(@200wpm)___ 308(@250wpm)___ 257(@300wpm)
“Okay…” He swiped a hand through his dark hair.
I hadn’t realized a small bud of hope had bloomed in my chest until his lack of rebuttal caused it to shrivel like he had doused it with weed killer. That was exactly why I didn’t need to do whatever this was. I would absolutely end up hurt.
“Okay.” I forced a smile and turned around, dodging a passing tour group.
Awkward, awkward silence stretched between us from Oscar Wilde’s grave to Chopin’s. I was barely present, thanks to my racing thoughts about how working with him meant there was no escape. Which meant I absolutely could not get involved with him because when things went down like a steaming pile of elephant shit, and they would, I’d have to sit at my desk, Monday thru Friday, and listen to him breathe from the other side of the cubicle.
Vance stopped in front of me, and my attention dropped to his ass.
“What in the hell kind of memorial is that?” He turned around, thumbing at the grave behind him. On top of the concrete slab laid a green, patinaed bronze sculpture of a man holding a head above his body.
That was definitely unique. “No idea. Maybe he beheaded someone?”
My phone went berserk in my purse.
“Five bucks that string of texts is about Rent-a-Poo,” Vance said, smiling like he was just as excited about it as me.
Not relationship material, I recited that lie in my head as I dug out my device and opened the very active family chat.
Mom: If anyone is available, we need help.
Mom: Moving party inside because the backyard is covered in a layer of manure.
Aunt Patricia: I’m sorry, Maureen. Did you say manure?
Mom: Yes.
A photo of the shit-covered yard followed. I stifled a laugh.
Erin: It’s good for the soil.
Grace: Sorry. I have a stomach virus. Can’t help.
Almost immediately, a personal message from Grace popped up at the top of the screen.
Grace: Karma is alive and well. Mom’s yard is covered in shit. Kate is going to lose it.
Back to the family chat.
Aunt Brenda: Oh my, Maureen. That’s terrible.
Aunt Patricia: How did that happen?
Erin: It’s not like Kate doesn’t have ten million enemies…
Aunt Patricia: Kate is lovely. There’s no reason for her to have enemies.
Erin: Kate is about as lovely as a case of poison ivy on your asshole.
Mom: Erin! She’s your sister.
Erin: And she’s a bitch.
Snorting, I liked that comment. So did Grace. And if I had to put money on it, Erin’s magnet had just replaced mine in fourth place, or maybe Mom had them side by side in the trash by now…
Nana: Jesus is judging every single one of you!
Erin: I’m Buddhist, Nana. Jesus doesn’t judge me.
Then the chat divulged into two separate topics, one about the poo-covered yard, another about saving Erin’s eternal soul.
“I really hate I’m not there to witness the shitpocalypse,” I said as I passed my phone over to Vance—since he seemed invested.
Only because he seemed invested, not because I had some weird connection with him. Not because of that at all.
Okay, so maybe I had passed the phone over because I had felt some unnatural connection to him. And maybe I had debated on kissing him again, just to clarify if, in the short hour since he’d kissed me, I’d somehow remembered it to be more incredible than it was.
Vance stopped beside the metro entrance. “Are you sure you don’t want to go with me? I promise I’ll silence my timer.”
As much as I wanted to, traipsing around the City of Love with Mr. Magic Lips would not help me sort through my conflicted thoughts. “As tempting as that is…” I could have finished that sentence with a simple “no thanks,” but me and simple weren’t very good friends. “I have this article I want to write that requires me to…” I faked a cough because I didn’t exactly know where I was going with that excuse. “Do things.” Another faked cough. “Alone things.” That sounded like I had plans to go hide in some alcove and masturbate. Great.
“Yeah.” He crammed both hands into his pockets and rocked back on his heels. “Of course. You go do your alone stuff, and I’ll just...” His lips flattened into a line. At least he seemed just as awkward and uneasy as I did. “I’ll see you at dinner, I guess?”
“Yeah. Dinner.” Because that had been part of the assignment’s stipulation. Ticketed sites and dinners had to be done together. It was fine.
I could spend the day convincing myself he was a terrible idea, and for extra protection, I’d order something for dinner guaranteed to give me horrendous breath. Travel tip on how not to screw your travel partner you used to hate: Scarf down a mountain of raw onions with dinner. One hundred percent effective. No amount of Colgate toothpaste can combat the vaporous stench.