Total pages in book: 91
Estimated words: 90736 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 454(@200wpm)___ 363(@250wpm)___ 302(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 90736 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 454(@200wpm)___ 363(@250wpm)___ 302(@300wpm)
“My contract was up, so it was time to move on, you know? More money, greener pastures.”
So he does contract labor. For what?
“What about you?” He wants to know.
“I’m a designer. I just created an app.” I say it casually. Cringe, knowing how Ava, Portia, and Danny would be disgusted that I was downplaying the whole app-creation thing. They’d want me to stand up in my seat and shout it from the top of this bus!
“You fly all the way to New York to work on an app? What app is it?” He scratches his chin.
“Kissmet.”
“What kind of app is it?”
I puff out my chest proudly. “It’s a dating app.”
“And you’re single?”
“Hey, hey, hey now. Just because I’m single doesn’t mean I can’t create a dating app.” One I’m not sure I will use myself, but whatever. That is not the point.
Or maybe he’s asking if I’m single because he’s both shocked and intrigued at how that could even be possible. Portia said I was one hell of a catch! Ha.
“Obviously I’m not judging you for being single. I’m single, so . . .” He clears his throat. “I wouldn’t have asked you out today if I was in a relationship, just so we’re clear.”
Oh.
Well.
I blush. “Being single is my superpower.”
Andy tips his head back and drawls out, “I would never have guessed.”
“You would never have guessed that I’m single?”
“No.”
“Why?”
“I don’t know—you’re the type of girl a guy would snap right up.”
Take your own advice, Andy, and snap me up, then.
Oh my God, where did that thought come from? Holy shit birds.
No, Harlow.
Pump the brakes.
“I’m from Wisconsin, remember? Small town, no people. No men I’m interested in but all of them football freaks.”
“Football freaks,” he repeats with a chuckle. “I don’t actually remember you telling me you’re from Wisconsin—you told me you were from the Midwest, that’s it.”
“Well, where are you from?”
“Cleveland.”
That’s right. He said something about Ohio.
My eyes get wide; a midwestern boy falling in my lap in the middle of New York City? “Really?”
“Why are you surprised by that?” He laughs.
“Honestly, I have no idea. You seem worldly—and when I think worldly, I don’t think Cleveland.”
That makes sense.
The bus stops, the narrating voice in our ear gives us the destination, and Andy stands, grabbing our bag and our wrappers.
“Shit. This is us.”
This is us? “We’re getting off?”
Like, where even are we? I haven’t been paying attention to the voices in the earbuds—I only want to listen to Andy and hear what he has to say.
I rise, following Andy without questioning him, eyes scanning his broad back, smiling as we descend the steps.
Chapter 6
Andy
That was a close call, holy shit.
I almost had to tell her my real job, which would have gone one of three ways:
She wouldn’t have given a crap.
She would have pretended not to give a crap, but secretly, she would’ve immediately begun planning our wedding.
She would’ve started fangirling and making this weird.
No. It’s best that Harlow doesn’t know who I am.
Is she really this clueless, or does she actually not give a shit?
When I told her I was in between gigs, she didn’t seem fazed.
At all.
Which is so weird, considering she’s single. Why isn’t she flirting with me? Is she not interested?
Everyone is interested in me—let’s be honest.
Then again, most people on planet Earth recognize me.
Seems I stumbled upon the one person who doesn’t.
How is that possible?
Except now Harlow thinks I’m unemployed, which isn’t exactly a winning situation, although it is refreshing to be with someone who doesn’t know how much I’m financially worth or how famous my face is—even if we’re just spending a single day together.
Harlow plods along after me. “Can we please talk about that mustache now? The fact that you haven’t said anything about it has been driving me nuts.”
I laugh, grateful she’s changing the subject, and hoist our breakfast leftovers in their bag, striding toward Little Italy, our first stop of the day on this bus tour. I’ve never been to Little Italy, and now I’m craving a cannoli super bad. If we can find one dipped in pistachios, even better.
I just need one bite, and I’ll be happy.
“I thought it would be funny—don’t you think so?” I give the ’stache another wiggle. Or at least, I think it’s wiggling. I feel it on my face but can’t tell if I’m making it move or not.
“Well, yes.” She pauses, stopping on the sidewalk in front of me. “And now I kind of want one.”
She kind of wants one?
“You want a mustache?”
Harlow shrugs. “Sure, why not? It’s not fair that you get to have all the fun. I think I’d be cute with a mustache.”
I wouldn’t call this fun—at least, fun wasn’t my reason or intention when I found these online last night and had them delivered to the hotel. More like a necessity than anything; the hat and sunglasses only do so much disguising.