Total pages in book: 155
Estimated words: 151333 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 757(@200wpm)___ 605(@250wpm)___ 504(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 151333 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 757(@200wpm)___ 605(@250wpm)___ 504(@300wpm)
That’s true. I threw away the chicken Erin touched, but I don’t know what else she could’ve had her hands on, and it’s throwing up my triggers.
“I know, but I just can’t.”
She blinks at me. “Well, we have to eat.”
“You can, I’m not hungry. I just want to go change.”
“Sky, you have to eat. There must be something that’s sealed and not opened yet in here.” She rummages around in the fridge and pulls out a carton of eggs and a package of cheese.
“I can make us omelets,” she announces triumphantly.
I almost gag. “Too squishy. I can’t eat eggs like that.”
“Okurrrr,” she jokes, moving on to open the cabinets. “You are super high maintenance, girl. How about this?” She pulls out a box. “Instant mashed potatoes, never opened?”
“I eat that sometimes. I could have that, I guess.”
“Good. I’m going to make an omelet for me, and potatoes for you.” She studies my face, her smile slowly fading away. “Are you okay? Do you want me to come upstairs with you while you change? Then we’ll eat?”
My voice catches in my throat, so I nod, relieved that I don’t have to actually say I’m afraid to go up to my room alone.
Smiling sympathetically, she hooks her arm in mine. “Let’s go do that. We’ll put comfy clothes on, I’ll make us dinner, and we’ll chill out and watch a chick flick. We haven’t had a sleepover in years!”
I think we were thirteen years old the last time I slept over at her house. It seems like a lifetime ago.
Upstairs, Megan gently cleans the blood off my face and out of my hair.
“That’s a gnarly gash,” she says, staring at it. “Do you think you’ll need plastic surgery for the scar?”
“I’m not sure. The doctor said it was possible. I’ll have to see how bad it is once it heals.”
“Once the stitches are out, put vitamin E oil on it. I read that helps scarring.”
I may opt for plastic surgery if I have a noticeable scar. I don’t want to go through the rest of my life telling curious people that some girl hit me in the head with a hammer.
We eat dinner, then curl up on my bed together to watch movies. Megan texts with Erik almost nonstop. I don’t mind though, because it’s nice to see her so happy and smitten. I can’t stop myself from glancing at Jude’s phone to see if he’s used mine to send me a text, but there’s nothing. My brain is spinning with worry about him and conjuring up visions of every worst possible scenario. All I care about is that he comes home safe.
“So, he just gave you his phone, unlocked?” Megan asks when she catches me looking at.
I nod. “Yes. He has mine, too.”
“And why aren’t you snooping the hell out of it right now?”
“Why would I do that?”
She leans over me to look at the screen. “To see if he’s talking to other women.”
“That’s none of my business.”
“You’re his wife. And you’ve been hooking up. You totally have the right.”
I hold the phone in my hand, slightly tempted to look. Of course, I’m curious—who wouldn’t be?
“No.” I quickly put the phone down beside me before I change my mind. “I don’t want to be that kind of person. It’s an invasion of his privacy.”
“Oh my God, Skylar. What planet are you from? Do you want me to look through it for you?”
I slap her hand away as she reaches for the phone. “Megan! No. It’s wrong.”
“I look at Erik’s phone every time he goes to the bathroom. I know his passcode.”
“Why? If you don’t trust him why are you with him?” I don’t ever want to be that way with a man.
“I trust him. I just want to see if other bitches are messaging him.”
“Are they?”
She shrugs. “Just his mom.”
I roll my eyes. “You’re ridiculous. I’m pretty sure Jude isn’t seeing anyone or having any booty calls. He’s home every night.” Since I moved in, Jude has never not come home at night. He never smells like perfume. He’s never left the house looking like he’s heading out for a date. I never catch him texting or leaving the room to have a private conversation on his phone. Everything about him screams single.
There was that lipstick stain on his face that one time, though.
“Hmm,” Megan says, quirking her mouth to the side. “His phone could be riddled with porn, then. Maybe he jacks off every night.”
“It’s still none of my business what he does with his own hands and his dick. I have a vibrator, and I wouldn’t want him creeping on me.”
She looks surprised. “You do? Which one do you have?”
A knock on my bedroom door wakes me into a lurch of panic, and it takes me a few seconds to remember where I am. My brain is foggy and disoriented, my head still throbbing. I grab Megan, who’s asleep next to me in my bed.