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)
What if I’d had a man here?!
What if I’d had a man here, and we were in the middle of . . . doing stuff?
You know—stuff.
I rue the day I gave him that spare key, but in my defense that key is for Emergencies, and watching my high-def television cannot be classified as an emergency.
“Uncomfortable for me. And her.”
“How would you be uncomfortable? All you have to do is listen and pop your head into the camera and say hello a few times.”
“No.” I walk over and take the remote from his hand, then place it back on the coffee table. “Please, no. Why do you want me to be in your call?”
Unbelievable.
“You’re my daughter! I love you!”
I groan. “Knock it off with the guilt-tripping, online dating isn’t applicable. You cannot drag me into your nonsense.”
Do I want to help him set up his dating profile? Yes.
Does that mean I want to be on the selection committee or involved in his actual dates? No.
In a perfect world I wouldn’t be involved until he’s gone on several dates with someone—then and only then would I want to meet the person he wants to spend his time with. I don’t want to tag along on his first dates or be involved in his phone calls—especially when they’re at my house!
“Would you please talk to her at home? Seriously. Or at least go into my office?”
I do not need him bellowing while seated on my couch, which happens to be the epicenter of the house—nor do I want to hear him sweet-talking some stranger.
“Fine. I’ll go in your office,” he says grudgingly, making a big production of standing up—as if he had difficulty walking—shuffling in the direction of my office, hamming it up for his audience of one.
I roll my eyes.
“Don’t take long, I need my office,” I call out to his retreating form. “I have a meeting.”
My father sighs as he disappears through the doorway—and here I thought Danny was the most dramatic person in my life.
Wrong.
It’s my father.
Part of me wants to eavesdrop on his conversation with Shirley; the other half wants him to keep his voice level down so I don’t have to know what Dad is like when he’s on a mission to woo a woman.
I busy myself in the kitchen, returning to my phone.
Andy messaged me.
Oh shit.
Was not expecting that . . .
I mean, yes—Andy did text on his way to the airport the other day, but that had to have been out of sheer politeness, yeah?
Andy: On a scale of 1 to 10, how often have you been thinking about me?
I gawk at the message. Have I been thinking about him?
Sure. Of course.
He is handsome and funny, and we had a great time. Do I think I’ll see him again? No. I’ve established this and reconciled it in my own mind. But obviously I’m going to wax poetic about having met him; we spent an awesome twenty-four hours together, and he’s inspired me to start dating again.
Big sigh.
Andy:
On a scale of 1 to 10, how often have you been thinking about me?
Me:
I’ll go with a 6?
Andy:
A 6???? What the . . .
Me:
What? Is that too low?
Me:
On a scale, how often have you been thinking about Me?
Andy:
Uh, now I’m not going to tell you.
Me:
Ooo so I’m guessing you’re at a 10.
Andy:
Don’t put words into my mouth.
Me:
Tell me.
Andy:
Pfft. The window has passed.
Me:
Do you think of me at an 8 or a 10?
Andy:
A 6.
I lean my hip against the kitchen counter, take a drink of my juice, and grin.
He is so full of shit, not that it matters. We are not going to start dating no matter how flirtatious he is. It’s not realistic, and it’s not possible—surely he knows that?
Me:
So since we’re discussing how much you miss me, blah blah blah—can I just say, the way I see it, we’re talking and are friends.
I bite my bottom lip nervously, worried I might have hurt his feelings by putting him in the friend zone.
Andy:
Friends? Yeah totally!
I imagine that if we were having an actual, speaking conversation, his voice would have risen a few octaves.
Me:
So what have you been up to? Still hanging with your parents?
Andy:
Yup. I think I only have one more full day here with them, then I have to jet. Duty calls.
Duty calls? What kind of duty?
He’s not volunteering the information, and I don’t have the guts to ask—or pry.
Me:
What have the three of you been doing? You said you didn’t have brothers or sisters, right?
Andy:
Yeah, no siblings. My dad and I have been hanging in his office, my mom has been fake cooking me meals nonstop. They’re trying to figure out the holidays, if I’ll be home, shit like that. The usual. LOL
Me:
What do you mean by fake cooking you meals?
Andy:
She orders takeout and puts it in cookware so my father thinks she’s been in the kitchen making it from scratch.