Total pages in book: 124
Estimated words: 122514 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 613(@200wpm)___ 490(@250wpm)___ 408(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 122514 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 613(@200wpm)___ 490(@250wpm)___ 408(@300wpm)
“I changed my mind. Get mauled!”
I could hear his laugh as he shut the door and headed inside, his bag over his shoulder. Only a couple guys squinted at him, their heads cocked to the side. He was right. His incognito look really was incognito, but he was still frustrating.
And I was hoping for the soon too.
Driving back, my phone kept buzzing.
Reese: Checking in.
Reese: I had to check my bag. It’s too big for a carry-on.
Reese: Two autographs.
Reese: Going up the escalator now.
Reese: At the security line. The guards are cool. They promised not to be angry when Thunder beats the Coyotes.
Reese: Through security.
He knew I couldn’t answer. I was driving.
Reese: I’m at gate A6.
Reese: This is a nice airport. I always forget till I get here.
Reese: I upgraded to first class.
Reese: Coach wants to make sure I get back in time for meetings this morning.
Reese: Still not boarding. Just letting you know.
After parking, I grabbed my phone.
Me: It’s supposed to be questions. Like, if I asked security if I could put a body in my bag, could I still check it? Questions like that. You’re not following the rules.
Reese: Fuck the rules. These are my rules.
Reese: You do questions. I do updates. Deal with it.
Reese: Except now. Are you back at your place?
Me: Yes. Walking upstairs now.
Reese: No updates from you. Well. Yes. Tell me when you get in your place.
I turned down my hallway. Bill’s door opened and his head popped out. His hair was scruffed up like he’d been trying for a Mohawk. “No bullshit. Was that him?”
I was about to break a fellow Reese Forster fan’s heart. “It was my brother.”
He glared. “You’re not fucking with me?”
“No.”
“Oh.”
That was it.
His head went back in, and he slammed his door shut.
Immediately Mrs. Rings yelled from her apartment across the hall. “STOP SLAMMING THE DOORS! EVERYONE FUCKING SHUT IT!”
And her parrot a second later.
“STOP SLAMMING FUCKING SHUT IT!”
And then, “SHUT IT, BORIS!”
And her parrot again, “EVERYONE FUCK IT AND GO TO SLEEP!”
My phone kept buzzing. I didn’t read them, just typed back.
Me: In my place. I lied to Bill, broke my heart to do it.
Reese: He’ll get over it. There’ll be other chances for you to lie again.
Reese: They’re letting me board early. For this time, there’s a lot of ball supporters here.
Me: The life of a celebrity. Poor you.
Reese: Image of me giving you the middle finger.
Me: Image of my big toe.
Reese: What the fuck is that?
Me: Now you won’t be able to stop wondering. Okay. I’m going back to bed.
Reese: Turn your phone off so I can keep sending you updates while you sleep.
Me: Shouldn’t you try to sleep too?
Reese: Yeah, but in case I can’t. Your friends said they’d just show up and bang on your door anyway, so sleep. For real. Turn your phone off.
Me: It’s like you care about me. Friend.
Reese: Don’t do that. But I care about certain activities with you. How about that? Better?
I laughed, and something settled in me. I wasn’t going to question it. It’d been with me since we woke up—an uneasiness sitting on my stomach.
This might’ve been a good feeling, but I was scared to feel it. Even while we were doing the jokes, the teasing, using the crude words, that feeling wouldn’t dislodge.
Whatever it was, it was there, and I knew when it left, I would miss it.
I typed back.
Me: Turning phone off. I care about fucking you too.
But I didn’t turn my phone off. I silenced it, left it on, and propped it so it was facing me.
The screen lit up as his texts came in, and that unsettled feeling became more permanent.
It was two weeks later and I still hadn’t made a decision. Shortly after Reese left, Trent, Grant, Owen, and Hadley had all shown up at my apartment. Things went down just as Reese said they would.
My friends gave me their dramatic interpretation of the events that had happened after I left camp, and also brought me a job offer. It was a part-time head of promotions position. I would be given an allowance for moving, but that was it.
I wasn’t sure what to say.
Was I desperate enough to take something like that to tide me over. I could hear Reese’s words in my head. The salary wasn’t great—I really needed full-time work, but could I be too picky? I’d had a couple job interviews since I got back, but no one had called me for a second one. And I’d applied at a bunch of places. I was open to all sorts of possibilities. My degree was in social work, but I’d never used it. I took what jobs I could get.
Eye doctor’s office receptionist. Guest services coordinator at a hospital. Research assistant. My last job was data management. I’d liked that one the best, except for the boss and, you know, being fired because she mistook me for her husband’s mistress. There’s that. But the pay hadn’t been bad, and I’d enjoyed looking at numbers all day.