Total pages in book: 62
Estimated words: 60931 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 305(@200wpm)___ 244(@250wpm)___ 203(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 60931 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 305(@200wpm)___ 244(@250wpm)___ 203(@300wpm)
I’ve read the book, so hearing some of these early guesses is fun.
Spoiler alert—it’s not the boyfriend.
Two other people agree it’s the boyfriend. Several other people think it’s the landlord who owns the farmhouse Jasmine’s renting with her boyfriend.
“It’s her mom.”
The group laughs at Eric’s response.
“The mom?” I chuckle.
“Sure.” He shoves a chip into his mouth. “Just an early guess.”
“Why do you think it’s the mom?” Freya asks.
“I don’t know. I read a lot of books, and it’s hard to throw me off. This book feels …” He shoves two more corn chips into his mouth while leaving me hanging with how the book feels to him.
“It feels what?” I tire of waiting.
“Sophomoric. If I’m wrong, if it’s not the mom, that will surprise me.”
“Drink up, everyone. There’s plenty of wine.” Freya passes more bottles of wine down the line.
“Moving on.” I force myself to stop glaring at Mr. Shits All Over My Favorite Book. “Character development …”
The good news? Everyone seems to like the characters—except Eric. He calls Jasmine weak and gullible, so I stop allowing him to share his opinions. By the end of the evening, I can’t even look at him.
“Where do you want the empty wine bottles?” Eric asks as I toss dirty plates into a trash bag.
“Leave them. You don’t need to help clean up.” I avoid any chance of eye contact.
“I want to. So where do they go?”
Up your ass. All of them. You should shove them up your ass for being such a dick.
Chivalry, my ass.
“In that box by the door. I’ll take them back to work to be recycled. Thank you, Eric. It’s kind of you.” Freya wraps her full lips around his ego and blows so hard I fear she’ll pop him. “I’m going to grab some cleaner to wipe down the table, Anna.”
“Okay,” I mumble, brushing past Eric to set the trash by the door.
“Have I done something wrong?”
“Nope.” I shuffle my flip-flop-clad feet over to the opposite end of the rooftop and start collapsing the sun umbrellas.
“Good. I was worried I somehow offended you; that would make me feel terrible.” He starts at the opposite end, helping me collapse the umbrellas. “I’m getting my first shipment of tees in the morning. What time do you get coffee?”
“I don’t go for coffee on Wednesdays.”
“Noted, but tomorrow is Friday.”
“I’m not drinking coffee at the moment. It’s too hot.”
“I bet they can make iced coffee.”
We meet in the middle at the last two umbrellas, forcing me to acknowledge him with an actual glance. “A date? Are you asking me on a coffee date?”
“Definitely.” White teeth peek out from his quirked lips while his eyes wander down my body.
“Are you checking me out?”
“Affirmative.” He chuckles after ogling my legs beneath the red dress that supposedly is my color.
“I’m not interested.”
His head cocks to the side. “In coffee or letting me check you out?”
“Listen, I’m not okay with how you tried to decimate our book club tonight. After just eight chapters, your negative and speculative views of the book were awkward and insulting.”
He squints, parting his lips a fraction. “O—kay. I offended you?”
I shake my head, scrunching up my face. “No. Of course not. Other people are enjoying the story. So when you’re so critical of the book, they feel judged.”
“Judged how?” He slides his hands into his front pockets.
“Like you think they don’t have good taste in books. When, after tonight, I think you’re the one who doesn’t know a good story when it’s right in front of your face.”
“Whoa …” He steps backward as if I gave him an invisible shove. “It’s just an opinion about a book. I’m not judging anyone. Diversity is beautiful. If everyone had the same taste, life would be boring.”
“Well …” I start my rebuttal, but how do I argue with “diversity is beautiful?” Instead, I frown. Really … it’s a pout.
“If you think my opinions are too disruptive, I won’t return to the book club. My sincerest apologies. But I still want to have coffee with you.”
He’s so … Ugh! I don’t know. Why does he have to wear cute shirts and say profound things that make it hard to stay mad at him? He’s supposed to be the last good guy. I think I need him to be that guy.
“Dating someone who lives in my building is a bad idea.” It’s not a lie, but it’s also not my hard and fast rule.
Rubbing his kissable (yes, they’re kissable) lips together, he nods slowly. “I see. So let’s have coffee, and it won’t be a date.”
“I pay for my coffee, right?”
He smirks. “Anna, I’m going to make you pay for your coffee, even if we call it a date.”
My jaw unhinges to say something. What? I’m not sure. Should I be offended? Should he be offended that I was presumptuous? “Now you’re just being a dick.”