Total pages in book: 92
Estimated words: 87913 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 440(@200wpm)___ 352(@250wpm)___ 293(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 87913 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 440(@200wpm)___ 352(@250wpm)___ 293(@300wpm)
“Ha-ha, very funny.” He looks around. “Where is Mom anyway?”
“She’s with Shelly.” I point across the room, then ask, “Why do you need Mom to pay your credit card bill? I thought you were working.”
“I am working, but I’m not ashamed to take a handout every now and again.”
“Of course, what was I thinking?” I roll my eyes.
“Oh, okay, Miss Goody Two Shoes. Is your baby daddy here tonight?” Thank God he’s always in my corner, so at least he keeps his voice low.
“Jacob,” I warn, even though it’s unnecessary.
“It’s just a question.” He grins.
“Don’t be annoying.”
“I can only ever be myself.” He shrugs, then says, “I’m going to go get a drink. Do you want another one of those?”
“Please.” I pass him my empty glass, and he looks at Molly.
“What about you?”
“Vodka tonic.” She holds up her glass that’s still half full.
“Cool.” He walks away, and I turn to Molly, then frown when I realize she’s checking him out.
“Don’t do that,” I hiss.
“Franny, you know he’s hot, right? And if he weren’t so young, immature, and an obvious idiot, I would totally date him.”
“Don’t make me puke.” My lip curls in disgust, and she laughs.
“Just saying.”
“You’re gross.” I shake my head in hopes of getting the image of one of my best friends with my brother out of my brain. Honestly, I can’t imagine Jacob with anyone—not just because he’s my brother, but because, like Molly said, he’s immature. I’m sure he’ll grow up one day, but that day isn’t going to be anytime soon, especially since our mother still treats him like he’s a kid. “While Jacob is at the bar, I’m going to run to the restroom.”
“I’ll be here waiting… for Jaaacooob,” she singsongs.
“Can you not be disgusting?”
“I can only ever be myself.” She winks, and I shake my head.
Hurrying out of the ballroom, I smile at a few people I pass in the hall and walk into the bathroom. As the door is closing behind me, I hear the telltale signs of someone puking, and just the sound of someone else getting sick makes my stomach churn.
Going into the only other stall, I quickly use the restroom, then step out to wash my hands. As I’m lathering up with soap, the stall behind me opens, and Billy’s mistress steps out and meets my gaze in the mirror.
“Are you okay?” I ask her, and her face crumples like I just told her that her dog got hit by a car. So caught off guard by the outburst of emotions, I stare at her for a long moment before I grab a few of the paper towels on the counter and take them over to her. “Hey, it’s all right.”
“It’s not.” She shakes her head. “Nothing is okay.” She sobs, taking the paper towels and covering her face with them.
“Come on.” Leading her over to the small couch that is at the entrance of the restroom, I help her sit and then rub her back as she cries. I don’t know her, but I do know her situation, so I feel strange trying to comfort her, even if it’s obvious that she needs to be comforted. “Do you want to talk about it?”
“No.”
“Okay. That’s all right.” I continue to rub her back and listen to her cry. When the door opens, my head snaps to it, and my shoulders slump when I see Molly step inside. Her eyes ping between me and the woman I’m sitting with.
“Dayton sent me to check on you. Is everything okay?”
God, I swear I could fall in love with him so easily.
“Everything’s fine,” I assure her. “I’ll be out there in just a couple of minutes.”
She frowns. “Are you sure?”
“Yeah,” I promise, and with a nod, she backs out of the doorway, and it closes behind her.
“I know who you are, and I know you know me.” The whispered statement causes me to bite my lip. “Why are you being nice?”
“Because no one should have to cry alone in a bathroom,” I tell her, and she turns to look at me. She’s so pretty—way too pretty to be with a guy like Billy.
“I can see why he likes you,” she says, her smile sad. “Do you know that he framed the sonogram picture of your baby and has it on his desk?”
My lips part. “He did?”
“Yeah,” she whispers. “He’s a good guy.”
“He is,” I agree on a whisper, and she shakes her head while tugging her gaze off mine.
“I should go.”
“Are you okay?” I ask as she gets to her feet and dashes away the tears from her cheeks.
“No.” Her smile is still sad but a little braver as she smooths her hands down the front of her lovely dress. “But that’s nothing new.”
“You can do better than him,” I blurt without thinking as she turns her back to me and she looks at me over her shoulder. “I know that sometimes we think we have to settle for whatever scraps are tossed our way and that we should just accept what is given to us, but I’m telling you now that you can do better than him. You deserve better than him.”