Total pages in book: 80
Estimated words: 74348 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 372(@200wpm)___ 297(@250wpm)___ 248(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 74348 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 372(@200wpm)___ 297(@250wpm)___ 248(@300wpm)
The second it was over, his forehead pressed to mine, letting out a groaning sound that made an uncomfortable shiver move through me.
"I want more too, pumpkin. Not now. But soon."
I didn't want more.
I wanted a shower.
I wanted to gargle with bleach.
I wanted to burn my dress.
Then I never, ever wanted to see Thomas again.
I kept my mouth shut, though, and let him drive me home. He prattled away about our next date, how he had the perfect thing planned, but he was keeping it a secret.
I stayed uncharacteristically quiet, trying to figure out a nice way to dump him.
It was rude to do it via phone or text. My mother raised me better than that. But I couldn't think of a single thing to say to him that would let him down easy.
"Does such a thing exist?" I asked Cam, shaking my head. "Letting someone down easy. It always sucks. Rejection always stings."
But I was determined to find the right way.
"Uh oh," my mother said when I got inside the house, reading the utter defeat on my face as I leaned against the door for a second then pushed off, rushing into the bathroom. She followed. Of course she followed. That was what moms did when you had a look like that on. "What happened, hon?"
"He kissed me," I told her, scrubbing my tongue with the toothbrush hard enough to almost gag.
"Did he have fish for dinner or something?" she asked, watching me with drawn-together brows.
"No. His breath was fine," I insisted, talking over the foam in my mouth before rinsing and spitting. "I don't know how to say this, but the second his lips touched mine, I felt slimy."
"Like... your lips?" she asked, confused.
"Yes. My lips. But everywhere else. My soul felt slimy, Ma."
"That might be a tad dramatic, Annie," she said with a warm smile. "I mean, sometimes chemistry isn't there right away, right?"
Wrong.
That was very, very wrong.
But you didn't tell your mom that. At least, I didn't tell my mom that.
"I don't think it's going to change. I've never had anything like that happen before."
"He seemed so right for you," she said, voice a little sad as she followed me out into the kitchen where I put the kettle on.
"I know. I agree. My body didn't."
"Sex isn't everything. Especially as you get older. It is more about companionship. Can't you see yourself sitting on a back porch in rocking chairs with him, watching your grandbabies run around the yard?"
"Ma..."
"Yeah?"
"I would have to have sex with him to make babies that would grow up to give us grandbabies," I reminded her, feeling a shiver course through me at the very idea.
"Well, yes. That is how it works." She pursed her lips for a second. "You really don't think the attraction could grow?"
You couldn't say Not a fucking chance to your mother. Or at least I couldn't.
I cleaned it up for her. "I really don't think the attraction could grow."
"I hope you can find a nice way to let him down."
"Me too."
Especially because it would be uncomfortable for her if he continued to come into work.
In the end, I fabricated this story about still having feelings for my ex. It was maybe the biggest lie I had ever told with any success.
He'd taken it well, too.
"Or so I had thought."
It started in little ways at first. Suddenly, I was seeing him everywhere. He shopped at my food store, he went to walk in the same park. Even though I had never seen him there before then. And the only reason he knew about those places was because I had told him.
I brushed it off, thinking he was maybe a little hurt, was looking for an opening to try to find a way to talk to me, to try to convince me to give him a second chance.
"I should have known better," I told Cam, watching as he shook his head and jotted down on the pad.
20/20.
He was right.
Hindsight was always twenty-twenty.
Still, I felt like most women would have seen red flags. Me, I just wanted to give him the benefit of the doubt. I'd felt bad about rejecting him. Maybe if I hadn't been so sorry for something that hadn't been in my control - the way my body responded - I might have seen those giant red flags back then too.
The flowers that started to come at the door or at my work, those just made me sad. They made my mother hopeful.
After a few weeks of them coming every single day, I couldn't stand the sight of fresh cut flowers anywhere anymore. They went straight into the garbage, much to my mother's objections.
"It's not the flowers' fault that you don't like who sent them. Why can't we just enjoy their beauty?"
I didn't see anything beautiful when I looked at them. I saw unwanted attention. I saw a man who didn't want to take no for an answer. Even a full month later.