Total pages in book: 115
Estimated words: 112903 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 565(@200wpm)___ 452(@250wpm)___ 376(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 112903 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 565(@200wpm)___ 452(@250wpm)___ 376(@300wpm)
Really, how do people risk so much with so little certainty of success?
Baby steps. The voice in my head that says that isn’t mine. Well, it is, but it rings with a certainty—a sense of wisdom—I don’t possess.
What if I dip my toe in the water of vulnerability and see what happens? Maybe I don’t tell Sally how I feel right off the bat. Maybe I never do.
I have to start somewhere though. Fill the hole inside me by spending time with the person I love most and opening up to her as best as I can.
If I ever want to be happy, I have to at least try to change. Because I think part of me is still stuck in the dark, and will be as long as I keep wearing this damn mask all the time.
I’m just buzzed enough from my cigarette and the cocktails I had to ask my brother, “You got a blazer I could borrow? A suit maybe? Something a little dressy?”
If you had asked me a month ago if I’d be excited to go to this fucking potluck thing, I would’ve laughed in your face. But now I can’t wait. Hell, I think I might even donate a poker lesson to be auctioned off, hosted by yours truly.
I also make a mental note to send a keg or two to the event’s organizers. I’m no cook, but I’m happy to provide adult beverages.
Sawyer grins. “I got a suit. Just promise me you won’t get any bodily fluids on it, all right?”
CHAPTER 8
Sally
MARLBORO MAN
“So, just to confirm”—Dad eyes me across the tiny kitchen island—“you and Wyatt aren’t actually dating. Y’all are just going to the potluck tonight as friends.”
Poking a sparkly hoop earring through my earlobe, I nod. “Exactly.”
“But he’s coming to pick you up.” Mom lifts her mug of tea to her lips as her eyes flick over my little black dress and heels. “And your outfit is fancy. You look gorgeous, honey.”
I grin as I guide the little plastic back onto the hoop post. “Thank you. The dress code is semi-formal, so—”
“Those earrings are new,” Dad says.
“Yep,” I reply easily, like I didn’t pay an extra forty bucks in shipping just to get them delivered in time for tonight. I was sweating bullets until they finally arrived at the post office in town this afternoon.
Mom’s eyes are kind when she adds, “That’s a lot of sparkle for you. I like it.”
Dad, though, wears this funny expression as he eyes the earrings, then my face. Do I detect a hint of annoyance? Anger even? I feel like he’s been acting weird ever since I accepted the job at Ithaca University. Well, not weird necessarily. Vigilant might be a better word. It’s like he’s watching my every move, making sure I stay in line or something.
“You’re too old for a curfew, right?” he asks.
“Right.” I go up on my tiptoes to peck his cheek. “I’ll let y’all know if I’m going to be late.”
Dad sighs. “I feel like I should bring Wyatt inside when he gets here. I’ll make sure he sees the gun safe and put the fear of God in him.” He nods at the tall rifle safe tucked behind the stairs.
Rolling my eyes, I elbow Dad. “Don’t you dare.”
Ordinarily, I’d promise to behave. But I’m sick of behaving. I don’t want to do anything stupid or careless, but I also want to have fun. Cut loose a little—or a lot.
And no one is better at having fun than my date.
Speaking of, my heart nearly pops out of my chest when the doorbell rings. Glancing at the clock on the microwave, I see that Wyatt is right on time.
Mom and Dad exchange a look I can’t decipher. They’re not huge partiers, so they’re not coming tonight; they donated money instead.
It takes every ounce of my self-control not to run to the door. Instead, I give my dress a discreet tug and walk as calmly and confidently as I can to the front of the house. I wobble a little on my heels, and the new thong I bought rides up where it shouldn’t.
I’m not exactly comfortable. But I do feel sexy. Who knows if I’ll actually go home with anyone tonight? But I want to be prepared if I do. I shaved everything in the hopes of manifesting some sort of naked-with-a-cowboy situation.
I live in my scrubs and sneakers, so getting dolled up like this is a treat. I feel like a different person, like I’m actually a grown-up, red-blooded woman and not a perennially sleep-deprived surgical resident who barely has time to brush her teeth, much less blow-dry and curl her hair.
I grab my coat from the sofa and put it on. Then I open the door and—
Holy God.
Holy God in heaven.
Wyatt’s handsomeness hits me like a wallop to the chest. He smiles at me from underneath the brim of a pristine brown felt cowboy hat I’ve never seen on him before. His scruff is neatly trimmed. He’s wearing a sharply cut navy-blue blazer that molds to his wide shoulders and thick arms. Underneath that is a crisp blue shirt that matches his eyes.