Total pages in book: 83
Estimated words: 79564 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 398(@200wpm)___ 318(@250wpm)___ 265(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 79564 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 398(@200wpm)___ 318(@250wpm)___ 265(@300wpm)
I groan as Willa and Mazzy laugh. “Not you too? Why are you ladies so damn nosy? You guys are the worst.”
“Just admit you’re happy,” Tempe teases. “It’s okay, Farren. You deserve it.”
The words hit me, and I swallow the lump in my throat. “Yes, fine. I like him, okay. I like hanging with him and he’s a rock star in bed. Are you happy?”
Utter silence as the ladies exchange looks, and then Mazzy breaks out of the stupor. “Rock star in bed, huh? I think we need details.”
I laugh inwardly, knowing that talking about sex would get them off the notion that I’ve got true love just waiting for me on North’s doorstep. I give them some vague highlights, enough to keep the conversation light and filled with laughter. Tempe fills us in on her classes and by the time the call ends, I relax in the booth, a strange warmth spreading through me. These women—Mazzy, Willa, Tempe—are becoming more than just friends. They’re starting to feel like family. They push me to lower my defenses, and I suspect that’s something I really need in life.
“See?” Mazzy says, nudging me with her elbow. “This is what it’s all about. Love, laughter and a little wine.”
I smile, but my mind drifts to North. I don’t know about love but he sure makes me laugh a lot.
Our food arrives and we talk about our jobs—or at least Mazzy and Willa do. I update them on my job hunting. I order a second glass of wine because I’m taking an Uber to North’s place after, even though he offered to pick me up. It was sweet of him to do so, but by declining, I’m keeping partial walls up.
Mazzy rests her chin on her hand, her eyes sparkling with curiosity. The candlelight on the table flickers, casting a warm glow over her beautiful features. She swirls the wine in her glass absentmindedly, her gaze locked on me, ready to pounce. “I’m going to just ask you point-blank because you have been dancing around it all night. You keep saying it’s all fun and casual, but do you think this could become something serious with North?”
The weight of the question settles over the table and my face flushes. I shift in my seat, the leather of the booth cool and firm against my back. My fingers fidget with the edge of the napkin in front of me, folding and unfolding it as I debate if I should be fully honest with them.
“North is amazing,” I say carefully, my voice steady but guarded. I glance at Mazzy, then Willa, hoping they’ll let it drop, but their expressions make it clear they’re not going to let me off that easily. “He’s what any woman would dream of.”
“But not you?” Willa asks, gentle but firm. Her wineglass sits untouched, her full attention on me.
I take a deep breath, feeling that familiar pressure build. The low hum of conversation and occasional bursts of laughter from nearby tables feel distant, as though we’re in our own little bubble. The wine loosens my inhibitions and my lips.
“I think I’m broken,” I admit, my voice barely above a whisper. My throat tightens as the words slip out, and I force myself to keep my gaze on the napkin in my hands. “I just can’t open up all the way with men. The minute they get close, I panic and check out. I’ve told North as much, so this isn’t a big secret. He knows my limitations and that I want to keep this casual. I just don’t have any more to give, so no, I don’t know that this could be anything serious.”
The confession hangs in the air like a storm cloud, the only sounds the faint clinking of silverware from another table. My pulse thuds in my ears, and I brace for their responses, for judgment or pity.
Instead, Mazzy shakes her head. “I don’t buy it. You are already more than casual. You took care of the man when he was sick. That means something.”
“No,” I reply with surety. “It—”
“Means that you care,” Willa says softly. “Don’t be ashamed to admit it.”
“Fine,” I say with exasperation, feeling a dam break open due to their relentless needling and forcing me to think deeper than I’ve been letting myself. “I care about him. More than I should. I would have bolted by now on any other man, but for some reason, I haven’t. And I don’t know what it means.”
“It means that this could be real,” Mazzy says.
“Then why do I feel scared and jittery and like I’m about to make a catastrophic mistake?”
“Farren,” she says, her voice losing its usual teasing edge. “We’ve all made mistakes. Every single one of us. But you can’t let fear keep you from something good.”