Total pages in book: 89
Estimated words: 84195 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 421(@200wpm)___ 337(@250wpm)___ 281(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 84195 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 421(@200wpm)___ 337(@250wpm)___ 281(@300wpm)
I slipped out the door with a tall tumbler of strong coffee in hand, and for the next few hours, got lost in work. I was pretty sure my newest clients were going to put in an offer on one of the houses I’d shown them that afternoon, so that was cool, even if the closing costs were going to kill us. On Monday, I’d definitely try to negotiate a better deal with the sellers, but I’d heard through the office grapevine that they had a history of being sticklers on the price. And they could afford to be, especially if we were about to enter a bidding war.
As I walked to my car, I wondered what Skylar was up to, and as if he were a mind reader, I received a text just as I slid behind the wheel.
Hey. Got your note. Sell any houses?
I think I might have!
Awesome.
What are you up to?
Heading over to Jesse’s to borrow stuff before my shift.
Cool. Sounds way better than my parents’ place. Have fun.
I started the engine to head to dinner, when there was another text.
By the way, I ran into Gretchen in the hall. She was returning a book she borrowed from you. The Simone Biles one.
My cheeks warmed, which was dumb because it was only a book.
Cool.
I like that you’re still obsessed.
We’d gushed about the Olympics when we were twelve. The whole class did. My parents didn’t understand my fixation. Still didn’t.
Am not.
Uh-huh.
Okay, maybe a little.
If the Olympics were on right now, would you be planted in front of the TV?
Of course, and you’d be right beside me.
All true.
I smiled, wishing we were in the middle of the season right now, so it could transport us back to our twelve-year-old selves and we could make up for lost time.
Anyway, I set the book on your bed. Or should I say, our bed?
My entire body heated even though I knew he was teasing.
I bet your face is the shade of a tomato right now.
Dick.
I do like a good dick.
I grinned. Uh-huh.
I bet you like a good dick too.
Oh, look at the time. Gotta go.
I could almost hear his laugh as I tossed the phone on the seat and started driving.
I’d stopped smiling by the time I got to my parents’ mansion—that was undoubtedly what Skylar would think of it—but my cheeks still hurt.
I parked in front of the three-car garage, imagining how Skylar might react at the sight of their Colonial-style house. It was less square footage than the one I’d shown him yesterday, but in my opinion, it was still too big. I wasn’t kidding when I told Skylar I wasn’t into spacious places—or expensive things, for that matter. Though I understood why people were attracted to the aesthetic. If it were me, and my kids had left the nest, I’d sell and buy something much cozier.
“Hi, honey,” Mom said as I walked inside and stooped to greet one of their two cats. Dad was already seated at the table, reading the newspaper in their large chef’s kitchen, which was something he loved doing in his spare time. Mom tried to have a family dinner once a month in order for all of us to catch up, though we already saw each other most days at the office. It was her way of breaking out of the mold of her own childhood, when her relationship with her mother was pretty strained. My grandmother—the little I’d been told of her, and mostly from my dad because it was a hard subject for my mom—was apparently distant and harshly critical of my mom.
My stomach growled as soon as the smell of Mom’s pot roast hit my nostrils, and I found myself wondering what Skylar would be having for dinner. Possibly a large bowl of cereal. I wouldn’t put it past him. Had it been any other situation, I might’ve invited him to my parents’ house. A ball of frustration churned in my gut. Maybe the apple hadn’t fallen that far from the tree.
We sat down to eat as we discussed, well, business, because that was the thing we all had in common, and it had been that way since I’d joined their company after graduation. As a kid, I was always carted around from one property to another, and got my first taste of the industry that way. I actually enjoyed the hustle, the juggling, the negotiations—and the rest, as they say, was history. Though lately I longed to strike out on my own, and maybe I would someday.
“Any dating prospects?” Mom asked with a gleam in her eye. She was always trying to set me up, as if being single was inexcusable. I’d only ever agreed to one blind date she’d arranged, and it was disastrous. “There’s a new employee at the other—”