Total pages in book: 111
Estimated words: 105311 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 527(@200wpm)___ 421(@250wpm)___ 351(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 105311 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 527(@200wpm)___ 421(@250wpm)___ 351(@300wpm)
Puffing a breath, she sends strands of hair flying into the air in front of her, only for them to return and fall back in her face. Out of the corners of her eyes, she looks at me. “Let’s get you home. It’s past Rascal’s bedtime, and I have a feeling it’s past yours as well.”
Before we reach the door, I stop her. My fingers slide up the back of her arm while my gaze remains glued to her face—the sharp lines that lead from the apples of her cheeks to her cute little chin. “I think that’s a good idea, but I also think I should make sure you get home safely.”
“I’ll be fine. Don’t worry. I live really close, and I have Rascal to protect me.”
Gil swings the door open, smiling as usual. “Good evening.”
Just inside the door, she says, “Good evening.” Turning back, I look at her, realizing she’s not wearing any makeup. She’s fresh-faced, and her hair is messy but beautiful as always. Words don’t come easy as I take her in.
But with a clearing of Gil’s throat, I step farther into the lobby as she stands just outside the door, an invisible barrier keeping us apart. Gil scratches his head as confusion rattles his expression. “Is everything all right?”
Juni scoops Rascal into her arms and then catches up to me. “Hey, I know you’ve been drinking, but I don’t want you to forget about our plans.”
I punch the button and then stop with my back to the elevator. “To hang out?”
Her smile is sunshine, though it’s late at night. “Yes, to hang out. Drink lots of water, okay?”
“I will.” Smiling, I say, “Thanks, friend.”
“Wait.” Grabbing her phone from her pocket, she asks, “What do you think about exchanging numbers? Then if we want to hang out or you need someone to protect you on your next drunken night out, you can text me.”
I pull mine from my pocket and tell her my number. A text pops onto the screen, cementing the smile on my face. She releases a breath, and then says, “We’ll talk soon.”
“Yeah,” I say, nodding as I back into the elevator. “Definitely. Good night, Juni.”
“Good night, Andrew.” The door closes, and I fall back on the wall, staring down at the screen. I decide to send her a text. How do you feel about tomorrow?
The door opens, and as I walk to my apartment, my phone buzzes in my hand. I stop to read her quick reply. I love Saturdays.
My fingers fly across the screen to respond: Me too. I don’t have plans. I was thinking if you don’t have plans, maybe we could not have plans together.
What is wrong with me? Why am I acting like a high school kid again? I really shouldn’t feel this good, considering what I’ve drunk tonight, but there’s just something about her I can’t put my finger on. Another text comes in, making me grin like I’m guilty as sin.
I am. Thoughts fill my head, and I let my imagination run free with the images of how dirty Juni and I could be. The heat from when we touched still pulses through my veins. Instead of going to bed, I grab a bottle of water and then detour to the bathroom. I’m definitely going to need a cold shower.
With the water running, I slip my jacket off and toss it onto the bed. Leaning against the marble counter with a ridiculous smile on my face, I think about the last text she sent. Sounds like a plan.
9
Juni
Now we’re friends?
Oh God.
Not that I’m opposed to having friends. Having them is great, but what happened? Why did I ask a drunk man if he wants to be my friend? So humiliating. Why did I do that?
Have I gone insane?
I sounded so desperate, yet I couldn’t bring myself to stop. Once the words left my mouth, it was too late. I’m now two texts deep into making plans with him. Well, agreeing to not make plans but a plan to hang out sometime. Oh God.
When burying my face in a pillow doesn’t ease the embarrassment flooding every fiber of my being, I consider other alternatives like moving to Alaska, or going on an extended trip to Texas, maybe joining the Navy, a stint on Below Deck, or even hiking the Pacific Crest Trail like Cheryl Strayed in the movie Wild.
Anything works that gets me far from being in the same building, in the same vicinity, or even the same state with him. I half giggle, unwittingly thinking about how he thought I meant the state of New York instead of his state of sobriety. He was drunk, all right.
As funny as that was, how am I going to face him when he’s sober?
Oh, wait. I bolt upright. Maybe Andrew won’t remember. I have a feeling he wasn’t drunk enough to forget. One can only hope it’s the opposite.