Total pages in book: 134
Estimated words: 126485 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 632(@200wpm)___ 506(@250wpm)___ 422(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 126485 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 632(@200wpm)___ 506(@250wpm)___ 422(@300wpm)
I almost lost it. Where was your testosterone every time I had to remove a spider from the ceiling because you don’t like them? And when you let those tourists from Glasgow clap my ass without a word because they were too many for you to take?
“I suppose that’s it, then,” I said, surprised at the emotionless note of my voice.
Patrick’s eyes widened in alarm. He made a move as if to hug me, but I dodged the attempt. I didn’t want his touch. “Aislinn, I still care about you, and I don’t want to break up. I just think I need a little break. That way I can let off some steam, live a little without hurting you, right? And then when we’re back together, I’ll be relaxed enough to wait a bit longer. It’ll only be a bit longer, right?”
I stared at him. Was he being serious? Did he really think I’d come back to him and actually sleep with him? “Maybe I’ll spread my wings during our break as well.”
Patrick actually laughed. “I know you’re not the kind of girl who sleeps with just any guy. You want to wait for the right moment with the right guy.”
He sounded as if he still actually believed he was that guy.
“So you’re going to bang every girl who wants you during our break while I search for my sister and think of our reunion?”
“I’ll miss you too, but it’s for the best.”
My sarcasm had been lost on him. It’s not that I had never wondered about how it would be to have sex, but Mum and Imogen’s experiences had turned me off from the idea of having sex. I knew all about contraception but in my head, sex had bad consequences. I’d never dreamed about sleeping with Patrick, but sometimes I did fantasize about the occasional celebrity or hero from a romance novel. Sex was never important enough to me to give it more than a fleeting thought, and Patrick’s kisses and touch hadn’t been enjoyable enough to entice me into giving up my plan of waiting at least a year before sleeping with a man.
I had made the decision to sleep with Patrick before my flight to New York, more out of a necessary duty than my body’s desire. Now I felt almost relieved that Patrick had cheated and spared me our no doubt disappointing sexual encounter. He could disappoint other girls all he wanted for all I cared.
Despite this, I fell asleep with a heavy heart and tear-stained cheeks that night.
I sat at our small kitchen table in the dark, only the lights from the street below spilling in. Something told me that Imogen was in huge trouble.
Imogen had a penchant for choosing the wrong men. Mum always said it was one of the few things she’d inherited from her. Considering what Patrick admitted to yesterday, I seemed to have inherited that trait too.
The door groaned when Mum came home from work in the early morning hours, smelling of spilled beer and smoke. She froze when she spotted me at the table. “Why are you up? Is something wrong with Finn?”
I shook my head. “He’s asleep. Has been for hours.”
Mum put a heap of coins and bills down on the table. As usual, customers, mostly men, had tipped her more than generously. At thirty-six, Mum looked as if she, too, could walk the catwalks of the world. Women tipped her well because she was a jovial lass whose boisterous laughter was infectious and made them forget how pretty she was.
She sat across from me, frowning. “What is it, Aislinn? I know that look.”
“I need to go looking for Imogen. I have to know she’s all right.”
Mum began to shake her head, pulling her brown hair—dyed for as long as I could remember because she disliked her strawberry blond just like Imogen—into a ponytail. “Aislinn…—”
We had this conversation several times before. Mum didn’t want me to leave. “Don’t try to talk me out of it, Mum. Aren’t you worried about Imogen?”
Mum sighed, looking down at her hands. Her fingernails were chipped, and she began to pick at the edges, breaking off even more of the polish. “Of course I am, but I’m even more worried about the truth.”
“So you have a bad feeling too?”
“How can I not? You know Imogen. She’s a lot like me when I was at her age, always choosing the wrong guy.”
I nodded. Imogen had bad taste in men. Married. Much older. More often than not, criminals or losers.
“You haven’t dated for as long as I can remember Mum, so I can’t vouch for your taste in men.”
Mum waved me off. “I don’t want a man in my life. They are nothing but trouble.”
I rolled my eyes, but I kind of got it. Before Patrick I had stayed clear of men for that exact reason. I wasn’t sure if I’d inherited bad taste in men as well. Now, of course, I knew that I had.