Total pages in book: 94
Estimated words: 89583 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 448(@200wpm)___ 358(@250wpm)___ 299(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 89583 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 448(@200wpm)___ 358(@250wpm)___ 299(@300wpm)
Pushing her chin-length dark hair behind her ear, she gives me a shy smile that speaks directly to my balls. They draw up tight. Then my dick gets involved, trying to wave back. Thank God these pants have pleats.
After adjusting my khakis, I jump out of the driver’s seat and go to open her door. My father might be an asshole, but he’s an asshole with manners and he forced those manners on both my brother and me. She gets in and buckles up while I slide behind the wheel without once taking my eyes off of her.
“Is this okay?” she asks as she tugs on the hem of the dress.
It’s pretty obvious she’s uncomfortable so I make it a point to check out the dress, the hair, the shoes. She’s wearing flats. “Perfect.”
She smirks and looks ahead.
Alice isn’t my usual type. I date girls that like to do what I do. Hang out at the beach, surf, play beach volleyball. I date beach bunnies and athletes. Not girls that prefer to be indoors and hide from the sun.
But damn if she hasn’t changed what my type is.
Alice
Wearing a crisp white dress shirt, tapered navy slacks, and driving loafers, Reagan looks like he stepped out of an IG male model feed. He’s so jaw-dropping handsome I’m trying not to stare. Or drop a jaw. And especially extra mortifying, I’m pretty sure I look concussed.
I take circumspect inventory of what I’m wearing and suddenly determine I look like I’m wearing a Halloween costume. My black sleeveless jersey dress and my black ballerinas have always been my go-to outfit when I’m in New York and need to go somewhere that requires something other than my ripped skinny jeans. I thought I was okay. I thought I looked good…I don’t think that any more.
“Are you sure this outfit is okay?” I tug on the high neckline, which is presently feeling like a noose around my neck.
“It’s great,” he says, smiling.
“Great if I were trying to look like Wednesday Adams? That kind of great, or just great in general?”
Am I fishing for a compliment? Maybe. My ego is going to need the boost if I have to stand next to him all day.
Reagan’s green smiling eyes meet my worry-filled ones. “Just great.” He reaches over and squeezes my thigh. It happens so quickly had anyone else done it I probably wouldn’t have noticed.
Except––it’s Reagan.
Which means the feeling is exponentially more meaningful. To me, that is. I’ll probably spend the next hour dissecting this action ad nauseum whereas he couldn’t be more oblivious to it. He must’ve sensed me stiffen because he side-eyes me briefly. The look on his face tells me he’s wondering why I’m acting so strangely.
“Who will be at your parents’ house?” I inquire, anything to distract him from this growing awkwardness between us.
“Some family friends. Maybe the Richardsons…I’m not sure––” He glances my way again and a frown forms on his face. “Is that okay?”
Before I can put a stop to it, the truth inadvertently spills out. “I’m always okay when I’m with you.” And the second I realize how it sounds, I flush red-hot, embarrassment crawling all over me at the prospect of being found out.
On the edge of my vision, I see Reagan’s head come around. Stare locked on to my profile, expression indecipherable. In the meantime, I do everything to avoid eye contact. And being the good guy that he is, he doesn’t press me on the matter.
Chapter 21
Reagan
This was selfish of me. The closer we get to my parents’ house on Roxbury Dr. the more I realize it, the sinking feeling in the pit of my stomach growing stronger as the miles shrink.
We pull in the driveway of the restored 1930s Spanish-style house I grew up in and glance over in time to catch Alice’s eyes widen and her lips part as she takes it all in.
“Wow,” she whispers.
A massive explosion of bougainvillea vines in every shade of pink and coral carpet the front of the house, covering the white stucco all the way to the red tiled roof.
“It took them years to fix it up.”
“I wish I’d brought my camera.”
Eyeing the Jaguar parked next to the detached six-car garage, I say, “My parents’ friends are here. I used to date their daughter in high school.”
Alice examines my face. “Oh, okay…right,” she begins awkwardly. It’s then I realize my mistake. “Are you uncomfortable having me here with them?”
“No!” bursts out of me. “Jesus. No. I don’t want you to be uncomfortable if they bring Jordan’s name up. Both our parents were pushing for more and they have a tendency to harp on about it.”
“Rea, the only people that can make me feel uncomfortable or hurt my feelings are the ones I care about.” She gives me a pointed look, no doubt referring to my dick move in front of the shady guy. “I’ll be fine.”