Total pages in book: 171
Estimated words: 167204 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 836(@200wpm)___ 669(@250wpm)___ 557(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 167204 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 836(@200wpm)___ 669(@250wpm)___ 557(@300wpm)
Because I loved him.
Because I was sure once I proved myself to him and he realized I wasn’t going anywhere, then the waterfall of love I was craving from him would rain down on me and it would be glorious. It would be worth it.
That’s a lie I’ll never tell myself again.
I don’t like to be guarded. I’ve worked hard over the last year to lower those guards to prevent myself from missing out on something good just because my past experiences have been terrible.
I’m no scaredy cat.
I can put my heart out there at least one more time.
I’m not sure it will be with Kyle, though.
The Kyle I met in line at the coffee shop, maybe.
The Kyle at this party?
Probably not.
I hate when you get different versions of people in front of their friends. Maybe that’s how everybody is, but it reminds me of how Mitch used to rag on me in front of his friends when he should have been the person I could trust to lift me up instead of pulling me down, and honestly, I can’t see myself getting excited about anyone who reminds me of him.
Aside from the sparkling blue eyes, I guess. I’m a sucker for blue eyes.
But I’m already here. I might as well put in the effort to see if there’s anything between us, so I search for something to say despite my lack of enthusiasm.
“I like your costume.”
“Thanks.” He looks down at his own costume as we head through the crowd of people. “It’s from that show, Vikings. You ever see it?”
I shake my head. “I haven’t.”
“Well, you should. It’s badass.”
I laugh a little. “Okay. I’ll have to give it a watch.”
“Definitely.” His gaze rakes over my costume, lingering in all the expected places. “I like yours, too. What is it, exactly?”
A frown flickers across my face, but I wipe it and glance down at my lacy costume. “Um, I told you. Remember? You helped me pick it out.”
He points at me, recognition lighting his features. “Right, right. You’re that girl from that Phantom musical.”
“Christine,” I murmur with a nod and a much dimmer smile. “And the movie version. The musical costume was different.”
So much for “maybe he wanted to know so we could do couples costumes.”
The longer I talk to him, the dumber I feel for being here tonight, but I banish the thought as fast as it occurs to me.
It isn’t dumb to put myself out there.
If he’s wrong for me, so what? I don’t have to hang out with him again. It’s only one night of my life. It’s not a big deal.
We enter a room that seems like the perfect place to enjoy a little privacy. We’re far enough away from the area where the music is playing and people are talking. There are two comfy-looking couches and chairs around a coffee table, and a fireplace with a television hanging over it.
“This seems like a good place.”
He glances back at me, then flicks a look at our surroundings. He must not agree, because he keeps walking.
I glance at the furniture as we walk past, my gaze lingering on the coffee table. Someone left a half-empty bowl of popcorn there. Must have been watching a movie or something earlier. There are a few magazines and books scattered across the surface so I try to see what they are for some clue as to what Kyle might be into, but I suppose in a shared space like this, those could belong to anybody.
He stops in front of a door off the kitchen, and when he pulls it open and I see stairs leading down into a dark abyss, I look up at him uncertainly.
The basement?
“We have a cool rec area down here,” he explains. “We stopped bringing people down during parties because idiots kept getting drunk and stealing balls off the pool table, but you won’t do that, right?”
I smile faintly. “No, I promise not to steal your balls,” I say solemnly.
He nods with a little smirk. “Good. The couches down there are the comfiest ones in the house.”
He gestures for me to go first. I don’t want to make him think I doubt his motives when he hasn’t given me any reason to, so I take the first couple of steps and wait for him to turn on the light as he comes down behind me.
The light doesn’t flip on.
The stairwell goes darker as he closes the door behind us.
On impulse, I reach for the railing. “You’re not going to turn on the light?” I ask uncertainly.
“This one’s burned out.” He says it casually, like it’s no big deal. “I’ll turn on the overhead light when we get to the foot of the stairs. Just watch your step.”
I make it to the bottom slowly. I can feel his impatience as he comes down behind me, but I don’t frankly care. He should have gone ahead of me if he knew the light was out since he’s been down here before and I haven’t, but I try to shake off my annoyance.