Total pages in book: 139
Estimated words: 133511 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 668(@200wpm)___ 534(@250wpm)___ 445(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 133511 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 668(@200wpm)___ 534(@250wpm)___ 445(@300wpm)
He grinned. “Appreciate the thought. You wanna go get some breakfast?”
I looked around, wondering what time it was. Where was my phone? Something chimed, and he reached over, picking his up off the floor—the bed was really just a mattress, I realized.
“I gotta go,” he told me, frowning. “Something’s come up.”
“No worries,” I said, thinking wistfully of breakfast. I’d decided one benefit of the friend zone was you could pig out all you want, and I was hungry for biscuits and gravy. All I had at home was cereal.
“I’ll give you a ride home,” he said, rolling off the bed.
“I can just walk,” I told him. “It’s only a few blocks.”
He shook his head, offering me a hand up.
“I’ll give you a ride,” he insisted. “Just give me ten for a quick shower.”
“All right—you want coffee or something? I can fix it while you’re in there.”
“No, I gotta get going.”
• • •
It was a long ten minutes, mostly because I’d forgotten to pee before he started his shower. The apartment looked even smaller in the daylight, and the sound of running water filling it didn’t help. One silver lining? Hard to feel horny while you’re doing the pee-pee dance, even though I knew he was naked right on the other side of a narrow, flimsy door. Took all my energy not to have an accident in my pants.
I found my phone out next to the couch, so I grabbed it, looking for a distraction. It was nearly ten in the morning. Wow. Jess had texted me about an hour earlier.
JESS: You alive? Looks like someone didnt come home last night. Painter? We should talk.
I sighed, then messaged her back.
ME: I stayed at his place but not like you think. We’re just friends. How was Taz?
JESS: Useful. He fucked me hard and then fixed the sink because it was dripping and wouldn’t stop. Now he’s cooking me breakfast
ME: Wow. Sounds like a keeper.
JESS: Im not into keepers. I’ve decided from now on I’ll just stay mentally celibate. That way I can get laid but still hold firm to my ideals. You coming home soon?
ME: Yup, just a few
JESS: Ha! You said your coming. I meant cumming. Shit, that would be funnier without autocorrect ducking it up.
“What are you smiling about?” Painter asked, stepping out of the bathroom. I would’ve answered him, but I’d temporarily lost the ability to breathe or form words. This was because he’d pulled on a pair of jeans, but no shirt. Throw in the fact that his hair was wet and tousled, and little drips of water were running down his pecs and across his abs?
Unfair. Deeply unfair.
I managed to collect myself, then scowled at him.
“Put on some clothes,” I said, pointing toward his bedroom. “If we’re going to be friends, you need to keep it decent.”
He raised a brow.
“Guys leave off their shirts all the time,” he pointed out reasonably. I crossed my arms, staring him down.
“The friend zone only works if you stay in it,” I declared. “You’re out of bounds. Put on a shirt, okay?”
He smirked at me, then swaggered into the bedroom, leaving the door open behind him.
Jerkface.
• • •
Later that afternoon, I still held out hope that our new friend zone status meant I might get taken out for dinner, given that we’d missed breakfast. Then my phone buzzed.
PAINTER: Hey—I have to leave town for a week or so. Not sure how long. You can reach me by text if you want, or call if anything comes up.
MEL: Since when do we text?
PAINTER: Since I’m allowed to have written communication that hasn’t been screened by a guard first. You know, to make sure you weren’t sending me secret code messages about global domination or something in your letters
MEL: You mean you didn’t figure out the messages? But I thought they were so clear. First you get the guns, then you get the women . . .
PAINTER: No wonder the revolution didn’t pan out. Prob for the best. Knowing my luck I’d be first up against the wall.
Okay, so I wasn’t getting dinner. But at least things weren’t weird anymore. This friend zone thing wasn’t all bad.
CHAPTER NINE
PAINTER
“So tell me more about this guy, Pipes,” Gage asked, staring ahead at the highway. We’d been driving for nearly four hours, and I knew we had to be close to Hallies Falls by now. Damned good thing, too, because I was more than ready to be out of this fucking cage of a semi cab. When I suggested we set him up as a long-haul trucker, it’d seemed like a good idea. Gave him an excuse to come and go, a place in the back to sleep if he needed it, all good shit. I hadn’t been thinking about how small that sleeping space was, or that I might get stuck in it, too.