Total pages in book: 62
Estimated words: 61082 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 305(@200wpm)___ 244(@250wpm)___ 204(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 61082 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 305(@200wpm)___ 244(@250wpm)___ 204(@300wpm)
“Um… that’s weird. And no.”
He shakes his head. “You don’t get it. That’s where we bonded. Before that, it wasn’t the real you. You lied and hid things from me. I want to know the real you, and I want you to bring Jerome.”
“Most people ask for dates,” I tell him, my heart beating faster.
“We aren’t most people.”
“I don’t know if I can,” I say in a small voice. “I don’t want to be with someone who isn’t sure. I need reassurance in this life. I need dependability.”
“And I need you.” His words, despite them not being exactly what I want to hear, still make my heart miss a beat.
“It’s not just me, Joey.”
“I get that, and I’m trying. I need to adjust. So let’s adjust together.”
“I’ll think about it.”
Troy comes up behind him, and Joey looks over his shoulder and gives him a nod before he turns and walks off without a goodbye.
“Um… did I interrupt?” Troy asks. I’ve hardly had time to catch up with my best friend, and I never wanted him to be brought into anything that has been happening. He was pissed—still is—but I convinced him to come over if I supplied the wine.
So here he is.
“No, he just asked me to go to Bora Bora with him and to bring Jerome.”
Troy’s eyes widen, and his hand goes to his forehand. “You must have some magical pussy because you have that man whipped.”
“I don’t, trust me,” I say, rolling my eyes. “Have him whipped, I mean. My pussy is top-notch, though.” I wink at him as I shut the door and go into the kitchen to open a bottle of wine. “Are you still mad?” I ask while pouring some wine.
“Yes. That’s not something you keep from your best friend.”
“If it makes you feel any better, I kept it from my husband as well.”
“Which one?” he throws back in my face.
“Touché,” I say, handing him the bottle.
“This place is cute. So, tell me, when did you fuck him last? Because that man needs to get laid, and he only has eyes for you.”
“He kissed me earlier,” I admit. “And that’s as far as I let it go.”
“He’s great in bed, though, right?”
“Yes.”
“Oh my God, you’re blushing. So tell me, is he the best you’ve ever had?” He holds up his hands. “And remember, you must tell me whatever I want to know because you owe me.”
Troy is passed out on my couch, and I’m lying in bed, staring at the last message Joey sent me a few hours ago, which I haven’t been able to reply to. I’m not sure what to say. And I’ve had way too much alcohol, so I will probably say something I shouldn’t.
I want you.
Three simple words stare back at me.
So simple yet full of so much power.
I want you too.
Four simple words I send back to him.
It’s late, and he’s hopefully asleep, and my drunk brain won’t have to deal with it.
Why the hell did I send that? It’s just us going back and forth. Back and forth.
Is that what a relationship is? I’m used to being told what to do, not having to deal with anything like this. My only healthy relationship—the one with Becca—was short-lived.
My phone starts ringing, and I throw it across the room.
Nope, not answering that.
Getting up to turn it on silent, so it doesn’t wake everyone up, I see Joey’s name flash on the screen. The call drops, and a text comes through straight away.
I want to come over.
I read his text.
Then read it again.
Then decide that can’t happen.
No.
But do I mean it? I don’t even know.
I stare at it. He isn’t writing back immediately, so I pick up my glass of wine and take a drink. Just as I fill my mouth, another message pops up.
But I want dessert. The one between your legs.
I spit my drink out all over the floor.
We should talk.
That went serious quickly.
About us.
I stare at the messages, unsure about what to say. What else is there to talk about? What else is there to say? I choose not to answer. It’s safer that way, right?
Pacing the floor, I decide to clean my room because that will stop me from gripping that phone and contemplating my reply. I put on light music, careful it’s not too loud, and reorganize my whole closet.
Why?
Fuck knows.
When I’m done, I look back at the phone.
It hasn’t lit up again.
I’ve been checking.
Finishing the last bit of my bottle of wine, I strip off my clothes and contemplate my life choices as I turn on the shower.
Because, hello, alcohol.
And hello, two marriages, both of which didn’t work out.
Fuck, I’m not even thirty.
Is this the way I saw my life going? No.
Not at all.
So how did it end up this way?
The water is boiling when I step under the stream. I prefer it like that. My face is tipped up toward the water when I hear him.