Total pages in book: 167
Estimated words: 164838 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 824(@200wpm)___ 659(@250wpm)___ 549(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 164838 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 824(@200wpm)___ 659(@250wpm)___ 549(@300wpm)
“I’m not goddamn Superman.”
“No, you’re not. That’s the point.” He chuckled, enjoying my demise far too much. “You’re about to become him.” Waving a hand at me, he smirked. “Right now, you’re Clark Kent. Slightly nerdy, slightly bashful. You even have his glasses, and your twitch of always touching them or pulling them off to rub your eyes is the epitome of you as Zander North.”
“Did you just call me a nerd with a twitch?”
“It’s a proven fact that humans only see what they wanna see. Soldiers in combat sometimes wear full-face hoods with no eyes or facial features because there’s overwhelming evidence that shows people cannot spot fellow humans if they don’t have eyes or a mouth to lock onto.”
“I’m not going to war, Col. This is ridiculous.” Pushing back the chair, I shifted to leave. “I’m done.”
“You started this, man.” He threw a small box of brown contacts at me. “You can’t be done until she doesn’t need your help anymore.”
“I’m telling you, she’ll know it’s me the moment I’m stupid enough to go near her.”
“Did she recognise you last night?”
My back tensed. “Well, no, but only because I wore a mask and a hat.”
“Alright, keep wearing those but also rinse your hair and put the contacts in. I’m telling you, Zan, the one thing that comes to mind when I go to describe you to others is your stupidly green eyes and glasses. That and your carrot colouring.”
I groaned. “You did not just call me a carrot. What are we? Back in freaking kindergarten?”
Grabbing all the boxes, he shoved them into my arms. “Not my fault you decided to help the very woman you shouldn’t be around. You’re in this now. You wanted to help? So help. And when she’s smiling again, you can have X die a mysterious death and attempt to mend your relationship with her as Zander.”
“We don’t have a relationship.”
“But I happen to know you want one.”
I scoffed and strode toward the door. “You’re sounding like Melody. She drove me nuts thinking I’d marry her granddaughter. She even confessed she and Gran put aside money for our wedding!”
He burst out laughing. “God, this just gets more and more idiotic the more you talk. Now, shoo. I have a patient coming in.” He waved me out the door. “Remember, do the opposite of what you do as Zander. If you can do accents, it wouldn’t hurt to put one on. And if she looks like she’s starting to suspect, abort. It’s best she’s left wondering rather than finds evidence to prove that her lovesick neighbour has been pretending to be Superman.” He chuckled. “You should start calling her Lois Lane.”
I stumbled over the threshold.
Fuck, that was too close.
Lori and Lois?
Why did their damn names have to be so similar?
What the hell have I gotten myself into?
“Oh, you almost forgot your phone.” Colin chucked my cell at me. I caught it, juggling a few of the boxes. “Better text her back before she thinks you’re avoiding her. Who knows? Maybe she’ll want you to come over tonight.”
“I’m not going anywhere near her.”
“Lying to me or yourself?” Sitting back at his desk, he opened the file he’d been working on when I first arrived with my troubles. “I won’t say I told you so when you come to me and say you’ve met her face to face. It’s inevitable with her willing to trust you and you needing to protect her.” He caught my eyes, seriousness carving brackets around his mouth. “But mark my words, Zan, this will escalate before it gets better, so I hope you’re ready. Now go away. I look forward to your next episode of A Day in the Lives of Zander North and Sailor Rose.”
“You’re a jackass.” I closed the door on his laughter.
* 17 *
Sailor
Trespassing Guardians
MY HANDS WERE COVERED IN EXTRA VIRGIN olive oil, beeswax, gotu kola extract, orange blossom, and witch hazel by the time X replied four excruciating hours later.
He’d taken so long, I’d had second thoughts about what I’d written. I’d doubted and pouted and driven myself stupid, wondering if I was the one who’d stepped over a line when he’d been the one to drop a phone in my letterbox and barge his way into my life.
Wiping my hands clean, I made sure the empty crystal bottles couldn’t blow off my counter, seeing as I had the kitchen window and door open, then snatched my phone off the dining room table.
X: Sorry I couldn’t text sooner. Had to deal with an emergency.
Wait. That’s it?
I’d panicked all day about the level of neediness in my last message, and I only got a one-line response?
Oh my God, do you hear yourself?
He doesn’t owe you a thing. He doesn’t know you. You don’t know him.
Maybe this wasn’t healthy. I’d somehow latched onto the only person I felt safe and seen with—someone I didn’t have to pretend to be okay with—and I’d made it mean far too much, far too quickly.