Total pages in book: 69
Estimated words: 65712 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 329(@200wpm)___ 263(@250wpm)___ 219(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 65712 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 329(@200wpm)___ 263(@250wpm)___ 219(@300wpm)
But it goes okay, I think. Not great, but okay. These women are firmly entrenched in their friendship routines. They don’t need a newbie, so they’re apathetic. Still, I try. So when Miss Michaels mentions that she’s dying to try out the new coffee shop in Center City and I ask if she’d like to meet there on Sunday, I try not to take it personally when she shrugs and says she doesn’t really like to leave the house on the weekends.
Okay then.
I can always go by myself. Again.
After work I park my car in the garage and then walk over to Sophie’s. Her condo is super close to my apartment, which is a huge bonus. My studio apartment would fit into the nursery of her fancy penthouse apartment, but it’s worth living in a small space to be in a great location so it’s fine with me.
Her husband Luke greets me at the door, a burp cloth slung over his shoulder and a huge smile on his face. He takes me back to the den connected to the kitchen, where Sophie’s sitting on the couch with baby Christine swaddled up in a blanket lying on the cushion next to her.
“Can I hold her?” I question after giving Sophie a hug.
“Of course!” She beams and places the baby in my arms. “I was just staring at her for a bit.”
“Staring at her?” I question. I’m not sure why, because now I’m staring at her. I brush a fingertip across her head while she blinks at me. She’s so stinking cute.
“Yeah, I think I’m holding her too much. Like all the time. Do you think all the time’s too much?” Sophie frets from the sofa. I’m sitting diagonal to her on a cushy chair and I settle back and snuggle the baby closer.
“I think she’s five days old so it’s probably okay to hold her as much as you want.”
Sophie nods. “That’s what Luke said, but I thought maybe he was just being nice.”
“She smells so yummy,” I comment.
“Right?” Sophie exclaims. “I thought maybe it was just me since I’m a little biased but she does smell delicious, doesn’t she? Like baby powder and peaches.”
“Exactly like that. So how are you feeling?”
“Like I gave birth less than a week ago, but otherwise good,” she jokes.
“You look great,” I assure her. And she does. She’s glowing and I think motherhood is going to suit her just fine.
“She’s an easy baby so far, plus Luke seems to know what he’s doing so that helps my confidence, you know?”
I nod.
“So what are you up to this weekend? Anything fun?” she asks.
Shoot. Am I supposed to tell her that I’m dress-shopping with Boyd? Because I’m attending a wedding with him next weekend? Because I owe him a favor for keeping quiet about my date getting arrested? No. Definitely not. There’s no way I want to bring any of that up, so I focus on the baby instead and mutter something about working on lesson plans. It’s not a total lie. I’ll work on lesson plans as well as go shopping with her brother.
“So what did you think of Boyd?”
“What?” My head snaps up from the baby and I glance at Sophie. Am I that bad a liar?
“Boyd? My brother? You met him at the hospital on Monday?”
Oh, okay, whew. “He seemed nice,” I offer. I’m not sure why. ‘Nice’ isn’t really at the top of my descriptive words for Boyd Gallagher. Words like ‘gorgeous,’ ‘cocky,’ ‘nosy,’ ‘fit,’ ‘sophisticated,’ ‘chiseled’ and ‘resourceful’ come to mind. But ‘nice’ works too.
“Everly seems to think the two of you would be good together,” she says, trying to dig into my thoughts on the subject.
“Yes, well, Everly also spent fifteen years thinking she and Finn Camden were a perfect match. You can’t always believe her.”
“True enough,” Sophie agrees with a laugh.
Eight
Boyd
At ten minutes to ten I knock on Chloe’s apartment door. I know I’m early, but I also know that in another five minutes she’ll be waiting for me in the lobby. I’m sure I’m breaching some safety rule of hers by coming to her door, but fuck it. I want to see where she lives.
The door flings open a moment later and she’s shaking her head and throwing her hands up. “You’re early,” she says, leaving the door open and pivoting around. Fucking hell. She’s got another pair of those goddamned leggings on. If she were anyone else I’d think she was doing it on purpose, forcing me to spend the day averting my eyes from the perfect curve of her ass, but I don’t think Chloe has a clue. Today’s pair is solid navy, and they cling to every inch of her from waist to ankle. She’s wearing a long-sleeved white t-shirt that ends mid-hip, which does nothing to cover my view. I find myself wondering if her jacket will be long enough to cover her ass or if I’m going to be spending the day fighting a hard-on.