Total pages in book: 68
Estimated words: 66259 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 331(@200wpm)___ 265(@250wpm)___ 221(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 66259 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 331(@200wpm)___ 265(@250wpm)___ 221(@300wpm)
“I mean…” I clear my throat. “Technically, we are all staying in the same suite so, you are shacking up in that you’re living in the same space and your eyes just did something really scary, so I’m going to stop talking right now. Continue.”
“Why?” She joins me on the bed and lays facedown. “You don’t even like me, you just like pestering me so it’s not even jealousy with Adrian it’s just that you can’t help yourself.”
She’s wrong.
But I don’t say it. Instead, I take a deep breath and move to the end of the bed. “Why don’t you just rest for a bit before the final party tonight.”
She groans into her hands. “I forgot about the moonlight wine tasting. Aghhhh!”
She starts punching the pillows around us then sits up.
I pull back the covers and gently attempt to tuck her in then join her on the other side.
“What in the hell do you think you’re doing?” She tugs the blankets away from me.
I curse. “I’m going to rest too, I just got punched, Dustin was chased by a cougar, I performed a song, and at this rate, with all our arguing, I’m going to lose my voice before tomorrow’s wedding.”
She turns on her side, I’m almost afraid to see what she’s going to say but her cheeks are flushed, her lips are pale, and her eyelashes seem to be seducing me. “Poor baby rockstar with all his complaints, tell me you don’t own at least three cars, two houses, can barely go anywhere without screaming and you’re, you’re…” She pretend chokes up like she’s crying. “Worried about a wedding?”
My eyes narrow. “You’re the devil.”
“You have a Lambo don’t you.”
I immediately start getting itchy. Damn it, my skin! It’s a rash! A rash! An emotional rash!
She reaches out her hand and taps my shoulder. “It’s either yellow or green, something loud…” My face falls. “Oh sugar plum, is it green?”
“Just so you know, it is green and yes I did accidentally tell a story about your pet turtle and how you dressed him up to go on a DATE with you to a WEDDING! And I’m not sorry!” I leave out that the woman had hearing aids and kept repeating, Urkel, which I’m lucky to even know considering I swear by the tv show Family Matters and the geeky dude who has two personalities, but whatever!
Scarlett lets out a gasp. “You told someone.” Oh no, her voice just got deep. “That I made a tux… for my turtle. Out loud?”
“Am I the one that made you take that life journey? No.”
“I hate you.”
“I hate you too!” She tugs the blankets harder into her corner of the bed nearly causing the small wall of pillows between us to collapse. “Out of all the stories you could have told, you told that one? THAT ONE?”
“I LIKE CHUCK!”
“WELL!” She yells back. “He hates you now, he just told me, we have telepathy.”
“Oh God, here we go, what he can communicate with you through the magic ground beef you feed him? Don’t tell me you left him in that tux, he could choke to death, it’s like not cutting the plastic on the soda.”
“Pop.”
“Soda.”
“AGHHH!” With one more tug she rips the blankets completely out of my hands, leaving me laying there in nothing but grey joggers staring up at the ceiling quite honestly wishing that Dustin would come in on a white horse and save me. How I ever thought Scarlett and I could get along, well, it’s been a shitshow since day one.
Or I guess since lie number one.
“You started it.” I find myself saying, and immediately regretting by the waves of anger I feel pulsing from her body at the moment.
She whips her head around and stares at me, it was a serious exorcist moment. “What. Did you just say?”
I gulp, then sit up on my elbows. “You’re the one that said your boyfriend worked in the music industry and I’m the one that showed up with you by accident, might I add.”
She sits completely up, the blankets drop, her hands are still in tiny fists and I’m pretty sure she’s ready to punch me in the face. The only bonus is that her chest is heaving, and she’s clearly not wearing a bra under her white tank top. It takes the power of a saint to keep me from looking for nipple. Instead, I zone in on her pretty brown eyes and wait for the attack.
“Listen.” She seethes, her hair’s all messy, pulled back in a bun on her head and her arms are braced for impact. “I meant like a producer or I don’t know an assistant. I didn’t mean the talent!”
I point at myself. “Talent. And it doesn’t matter because the minute they saw us together and everyone recognized us they just assumed we’d been keeping our relationship under wraps for PR!”