Total pages in book: 93
Estimated words: 97684 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 488(@200wpm)___ 391(@250wpm)___ 326(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 97684 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 488(@200wpm)___ 391(@250wpm)___ 326(@300wpm)
"Really?"
"Yeah."
"Fuck, where is this guy?" Holden's fingers brush my wrist. "I'm gonna punch him in the face."
"He was—"
"Who the fuck does he think he is, saying that to you?"
"But—"
He shrugs his shoulders, and the tension is his jaw dissolves. "I wish it was different, kid, but the truth is, men can't handle it when women don't like the things they like."
"Yeah?"
He nods yeah. "In high school, I had this friend. Dude was a total nerd. I think he only hung out with me for access to my mom's comic collection. One time, we were hanging at my dad's place, reading some comic. I don't even remember what it was. Ariel came downstairs. And he looked at her like he was a cartoon character with his eyes bugging out of his head."
"She's cute."
"And awkward. She had no idea. Poor Ariel…" He shakes his head knowingly. "You've talked to her. You know she hasn't got a hint of tact."
"True."
"So when she saw the comic, she offered her opinion. It was harsh. Fair, but not at all sugarcoated."
"And?"
Holden shakes his head in distaste. "The guy lost it. He started going off on how she didn't appreciate quality. And she couldn't see it. Because it was too important for girls to understand. And maybe she was just not as smart as she seemed." His eyes meet mine. "Fuck, you have no idea how many women have told me their ex lost it when they didn't like their favorite band or TV show or book or whatever. And some of the guys in my art classes… most of them were okay. But there were always one or two like that asshole."
"Who couldn't take criticism?"
"Yeah. And especially not from women. Men are just… they're used to being right. Sometimes they can't handle being wrong."
"Not you."
"No." He laughs. "I'm wrong a lot. I'm used to it."
"You're smarter than you look though."
"I don't know about that." His gaze shifts to my empty bowl. My almost empty mug of tea. He motions you want some?
I nod. Take a long sip. The chai I made. Not as good as the one he made, but closer. I'm getting there. "Maybe… deeper than you look."
"Maybe." He sips his tea. Sighs with his exhale. "Fuck, kid, you're too good at distracting me."
"Yeah?"
He nods yeah. "Lost track of my point." His eyes meet mine. "There's nothing wrong with being critical. Or having high standards. Or being hard to please."
"You think so?"
"Not when it comes to work. Or life. Fuck, if you want the best tea, demand it. If you want a guy who treats you like a princess, demand it. If you want a boyfriend who calls every night and—"
God, I do. "I was thinking about work. School. Books."
"It's a good quality, being critical. Even if it means most people won't get your opinions."
"Maybe." My eyes flit to the windows for a minute. It's a beautiful day. Blue sky. Ocean for miles. But I'd rather stay inside with him than go anywhere.
"It is. Fuck, when I was apprenticing… At first, it killed me, hearing that my work was shit. But I needed to hear it. I needed the feedback, and I needed it to be honest. That was the only way to get better."
"You're skilled now." It's beautiful here too. Clean tile, white walls, glass table. Holden's pretty green eyes. At the moment, it's hard to believe I see fault in anything. That there's any fault in anything. Life is just… good.
"Exactly." He draws doodles on my wrist. "And… shit, don't tell anyone I said this."
"Never."
"But that's the only thing I take seriously. If I hadn't had the most brutally honest criticism possible—"
"Am I that bad?" I don't mind the comment coming from him. There's something about the way he says it. The way he looks at me. Everything feels like a compliment.
"I don't know." He slides his arms around my waist. Pulls me into his lap. "Critique something for me?"
"What?"
"This—" He turns his shoulder to me. Motions to the tattoo running over it.
"I don't know much about visual art."
"Just your gut instinct."
"Maybe…" I trace the lines over his skin. God, it feels so good touching him, feeling his pulse, hearing his breath. "I… uh… I'm not sure I can be critical of something on your body."
"What if it said I hate Daisy?"
"It doesn't." I trace the lines back down his skin. "It's beautiful. And it suits you. It's just… right."
"Gotta be honest, kid, you're not bringing it on the criticism front." He knots his hand in my hair. Pulls me into a kiss.
Mmm, he tastes so good.
Our kiss breaks with a sigh.
He looks up at me like I'm heaven-sent for a moment. Then he blinks and he's back to the thread of our conversation.
"How about something more your vibe… Ruin my favorite movie," he says.