Total pages in book: 102
Estimated words: 99981 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 500(@200wpm)___ 400(@250wpm)___ 333(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 99981 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 500(@200wpm)___ 400(@250wpm)___ 333(@300wpm)
It’s intense and off-putting, and the only person I have to blame is myself.
Still, Greer is one of the two hundred people staring, and that at least makes it worth it.
She’s taken off her mask, a part of this plan I hadn’t even considered was a possibility, and what’s left on her face is a complicated mix of hope, shock, and muddled affection.
She’s likely wondering how long I’ve known about our kiss on New Year’s Eve, and how much of what I’ve said to her has been based on a lie. I just have to hope that there’s also a little part of her that feels like a missing piece of her heart has been made whole.
The crowd starts to chatter the longer I stand here, boombox overhead, and I’m wondering if she’s ever going to put me out of my misery.
The song is almost over, the lyrics coming to a close, when she finally takes her first step.
I watch entranced, her beauty unmatched by anyone in the room or otherwise. She’s everything I never knew I needed and more, and I know for a fact that, if by some miracle I can convince her to give me a shot, she’ll keep me on my toes for the rest of my life.
When she stops three feet in front of me, I set the boombox on the floor and peel my mask off my face.
She raises a single eyebrow in challenge, but there’s not even a hint of a smile.
My throat drops into my stomach.
“Using the same trick twice?” she tsks. “I would have expected more from you.”
The humor in her insult gives me just enough confidence to speak my truth, and to do it without caution or censoring.
“What are we talking about here? The mask or the song? Because I thought the mask was a necessary touch.”
“Yeah, I get the mask, Walt. I’m just surprised you have such a big crush on John Cusack.” She rolls her eyes. “Like, get a room already.”
“It was symbolic, just like in the movie. It’s the song that was playing the night we—”
She shushes me and puts a hand over my mouth. “I know what night it was.”
I smile a little, and for the first time, she seems to notice just how many people are watching us right now. I feel a little bad for doing this so publicly, but it was the only way. If I’d tried to confront her in private, she would have weaseled her way out, one way or another—even if it meant kicking me in the balls.
But that doesn’t mean I can’t rectify the situation now. “Do you want to go somewhere and talk?”
“Other than here, in the fishbowl of human condition?”
I smirk and nod.
“Yes.”
“Then, yes. Make that happen quickly, and I’ll give you a bonus point toward your score on whatever argument you’re gearing up to make.”
I put a gentle hand to her back and lead her out of the crowd and toward one of the storage rooms. My mom winks at me from across the room, and I blush like I’m five years old.
Ideally, I’d be taking Greer somewhere more romantic than a closet full of shampoos and table linens, but with this being opening weekend, it’s about the only unoccupied ten square feet on the entirety of the property. And at this point, privacy is more important than show quality.
I step aside to let her in first and then follow her in and let the door click shut behind us. The silence is almost startling.
With a mind to that and how she must be feeling, I give her a minute to get her bearings. She looks at everything possible except me. And she doesn’t make eye contact with me even once. I’m actually impressed with the talent it must take to pull that off, seeing as I’m the net in the middle of her eyes’ game of ping-pong.
“Greer.”
“Hmm?” she asks, still taking inventory almost compulsively. I imagine this is the fifth time she’s counted the rows of shampoo on the shelf.
“Greer, look at me, please.”
When our eyes finally make contact, it’s like the spark her questions needed to explode all over the place and out of her mouth. I do my best to keep up—which, I guess, is all I ever really do with her anyway.
“How long have you known we kissed on New Year’s Eve?” she asks.
“Since shortly after you told me we were over.”
“How did you find out?”
“Cap and Quincy told me.”
“They knew?!” she shouts inside the small space, and I nearly laugh at the relief in hearing her so unfiltered, so Greer. It feels like it’s been an eternity since I’ve seen her. All of her. Like this.
“Yes. As did Emory. They set us up to live next door to each other.”
That answer stops the questions briefly, but only because I have to pin her to the door to keep her from tearing out of this place and committing triple homicide in the middle of the party.