Total pages in book: 37
Estimated words: 36002 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 180(@200wpm)___ 144(@250wpm)___ 120(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 36002 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 180(@200wpm)___ 144(@250wpm)___ 120(@300wpm)
This is the best thing I’ve eaten in days.
The guy’s place I stayed at last night has an obscene amount of ramen noodles and beer. Since beer also makes me gag lately, and now is no longer an option, that leaves ramen for sustenance. Definitely time to move on. After eating, I’ll grab my backpack and then crash at my friend Jody’s.
“Can I get extra syrup and butter?” I say to the waitress when she drops off my chicken and waffles.
“You got hollow legs or something?” She chuckles at her joke. “I bet you could eat a whole buffet and not gain an ounce.”
I force a polite smile. I’m not one for small talk. I just want my syrup and butter.
When she realizes I’m not going to go along with her banter, she waddles off to fetch me what I need. After she comes back, I drown my food in the butter and syrup, then inhale it like it’s my last meal.
Who knows…it could be.
Between shoveling in bites of food, I shoot Jody a text.
Me: Coming by to hang. See you in an hour?
The three dots move and then stop. I chase the sweet goodness down with a gulp of Sprite. Finally, Jody responds.
Jody: You stole my boots, Abby.
I shift in my seat and the boots in question squeak on the linoleum floor.
Me: Borrowed. Didn’t think you would care.
Jody: Maybe you should have asked first. We’re not those kinds of friends.
My chest tightens. What does that even mean?
Me: So that’s a no to hanging out?
Jody: Drop my boots off. I’m busy.
Tears prickle in my eyes and I let out a bark of annoyed laughter. Stupid pregnancy hormones.
Me: Fine. I’ll bring them by. How’s your boyfriend?
It’s a bitch thing to ask. I just want her to feel bad like how she just made me feel. Now she’ll obsess over what that question means.
Jody: He’s fine. Why?
Me: Tell him I said hi.
Her boyfriend is a dick and not even cute, but I feel better knowing this will piss her off.
“Want some pie?” the waitress asks. “We have a fabulous brownie a-la-mode drizzled in hot caramel sauce and topped off with bits of toffee, a huge scoop of vanilla bean ice cream, and a maraschino cherry. What do you say?”
“You had me at brownie,” I say with a real smile. “Thank you.”
While she scurries off to put the order in, I text another friend.
Me: You home? I can bring some pie, and we can watch a movie.
Then I can conveniently fall asleep there “on accident.”
Daniel: Going out tonight with a new woman I met.
Me: After?
Daniel: Unless you want to finally show me your pussy and are up for a threesome, no. I’m looking to get laid, A. You like to sleep over but won’t let me touch you. You’re just a cocktease.
And here I thought we were friends.
Fuckface.
Me: I hope you get chlamydia.
The waitress brings me my dessert, and I damn near lick the plate clean. I hope this little baby is happy. I’m not sure I can promise when the next good meal will come.
I fish out my dad’s card and slap it onto the bill once the waitress delivers it. She disappears with the ticket and the card. It takes her an unusually long time, but eventually she returns.
“Sorry, hon, but it’s not working.”
My stomach roils. “Try it again.”
“I tried it six different times. Got another card or cash?”
Dread washes over me. Nope. I have nothing of the sort.
“Uh,” I say slowly as I slide out of the booth. “Let me look.”
The waitress shuffles over to another table to refill their drinks. I really hate to do this to her, but I have no other choice. Without thinking too hard on it, I rush out the front door. I hear her shout at me, but I’m already out and hoofing it down the sidewalk before she can stop me.
My heart races inside my chest. I quickly turn a corner and hobble down the dark alley. All this walking in Jody’s stupid combat boots are wearing a blister on my heel. As I walk, I scroll through my phone, searching all my contacts. The list is getting thinned out by the day.
You could call him.
You have to speak to him anyway.
When I reach the end of the alley, I sit on a curb in front of a convenience store. I’m grateful for what battery life I have left as I search the internet for the country club directory.
Rhett Monahan.
As soon as I see his name, a flash of a memory zaps through me. I remember being so thrilled to see the uptight bastard lose control.
The guilt at what I’d done came after I sobered up.
Does he feel guilty?
I mash his number and wait for him to answer.
“Hello?”
“We have to talk.”
“Who is this?”
I’m tired and cranky and my feet hurt. Plus, I enjoy flustering the man.