Total pages in book: 123
Estimated words: 117601 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 588(@200wpm)___ 470(@250wpm)___ 392(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 117601 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 588(@200wpm)___ 470(@250wpm)___ 392(@300wpm)
I’m waiting for Seph to come out so I can introduce myself. With each ticking moment, my resolve breaks. After six minutes, I call out, “Can I make you some coffee?”
The reply comes after a tense beat. “You’re still here? Leave.”
Leave? What kind of jerk talks like that to his brother’s girlfriend? Whom HE DOESN’T EVEN KNOW.
I swallow down my hurt, mumble Asshole, and close the door behind me.
On my way back to Dom’s apartment, I try to shake the feeling of disappointment. Seph is nothing like Dom. He is rude, brash, and hostile. I don’t get how he can be this big Casanova with an attitude the size of Kansas. But I shouldn’t even care, I remind myself. It’s not him I’m dating.
A text message snaps me out of my thoughts.
Dom: Did you get the scones? Were they everything you hoped for and more?
Ever: Got ‘em. They were worthy of every love poem ever written. Thank you.
Dom: And Seph didn’t give you any trouble, right? He can be a little on the grumpy side, especially in the mornings.
It doesn’t even occur to me to tell him the truth. I don’t want to create any tension between the brothers. I know how close they are. Plus, I haven’t had the chance to win Seph over. It could still happen, though the chances are looking slim right now.
Ever: Everything went smoothly.
Vague, but passable as the truth.
Dom: Good. Have an amazing day, babe.
Ever: You too.
It’s double date night with Nora and Colt.
Dom booked us a place at a tavern out in Beverly. He said it’s supposed to give you the full Irish experience. We bum a ride in Colt’s Range Rover. On the way there, Nora wonders aloud if an Irish experience includes drinking yourself into a stupor after Sunday Mass and changing our names to Mary and Desmond. Colt tells her it is deeply stereotypical. He points out that Dom is Irish. Dom chuckles and says, “Half-Irish, half-English. Besides, we’re also known for being fantastic poets and generous lovers.”
Nora makes kissing sounds from the passenger seat, squeaking in delight. Colt pretends to be embarrassed by her while casually hiking his hand up her skirt. In the back seat, Dom hooks an arm around my shoulder and pulls me into an embrace. He kisses the tip of my nose.
“Care to confirm that, Everlynne?” Nora teases.
“Unfortunately, I’ve yet to read Dom’s poetry.” I dodge the question.
“For you, I’ll actually write some.” Dom starts peppering kisses down my neck. I squirm free and press a finger to his mouth. He wiggles his brows, pretending to bite it.
“That’s not fair,” he says, my finger still pressed against his lips. “What if I have something important to say?”
“You’ve already said plenty this car ride.”
Another round of giggles erupts from the front seats.
“And that’s before I’ve even had a drink.” Dom sighs.
Nora cackles. “He’s a keeper, Ev. I hope you know that.”
I think if Colt and I weren’t in the picture, she’d be the one dating Dom in a heartbeat. The way she looks at him, like he is the only guy in the room, I sometimes wonder.
“I have a question for you,” Dom murmurs through my fingers.
I remove my hand from his mouth. “What is it, Mr. Graves?”
“Would you do me the honor of accompanying me to Christmas celebrations with my family, Miss Lawson?” He flashes me a sincere, honest-to-God good smile. “It is high time my parents get to know the woman in my life. Someone needs to tell me that I’m punching above my weight, and Brad Graves is just the man for the job.”
My knee-jerk reaction is to tell him that it is too soon. That it’s too big. Dom and I have been dating for barely a few weeks.
Then again, these weeks have been great. I’ve felt more during them than I had in the six years before them. And I’d been skimming the line of depression for a very long time.
I’m about to decline the offer politely, to tell him that I promised my dad I’d come home this Christmas—this is actually true—when Nora cuts in.
“She would love to! Wouldn’t you, Ever?”
“For sure,” I agree. “The thing is, I told my dad . . .”
“Crap!” Dom smacks his forehead. “Of course. Your dad. Hadn’t thought of that. You promised to go home for Christmas. Say no more.” He takes my hand and pats it. We spend the rest of the drive in silence.
In the tavern, I decide that something is definitely off. Dom barely looks at me. He doesn’t drape his arm along the back of my chair like he usually does, and he refrains from gushing about my outfit and meal choice and general existence. I eat my shepherd’s pie and try to pretend this isn’t acutely awkward. I ask myself if maybe I’m not being grateful enough for Dom. He fits himself so seamlessly into my life. He is great with my friends and showers me with gifts, attention, and orgasms. Yes, the plan was to spend Christmas in San Francisco, but I told Dom about it weeks ago; how was he to remember?