Total pages in book: 82
Estimated words: 83211 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 416(@200wpm)___ 333(@250wpm)___ 277(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 83211 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 416(@200wpm)___ 333(@250wpm)___ 277(@300wpm)
“What?”
I do a quick internal check. Am I nervous? I wait to see if my stomach will curl or my blood pressure will increase. But all that happens is an excitement that bubbles from inside me. I get to wear a gorgeous dress and be with Banks all night.
“I’m not even a little nervous.” I shrug. “When I think about the gala, I figure I should be a little nervous. I’ll be meeting so many people who could really help me job-wise since I’ve gotten exactly zero bites on my résumé and applications. But I’m just not.”
Becca lifts a brow. “And Joshua will be there.”
“Meh.”
She flinches, surprised by my apathetic attitude about my ex-asshole. I’m kind of surprised too.
But I haven’t even thought about Joshua being there for a few days. He was the original reason I wanted to attend. I was so aggravated, so desperate not to be seen in a weak light. Now? I don’t care what he thinks of me. I don’t think of him at all.
A week ago, I was at one of the lowest points I’ve ever been. Discarded by Joshua, jobless, homeless—depending on friends to help me through the destruction. It shook me. I felt like I was grasping at straws to maintain some sort of semblance of order to my life.
That’s been a consistent theme since I’ve been an adult and essentially on my own. There’s never solid ground. I never have a footing from which to grow. I catch my breath only to have it knocked out of me as soon as I turn around.
A lot of it is my own fault. I try to fill the holes in my life, the loneliness in my soul—and the hours that go by—with people, places, and things. Anything besides taking a moment to breathe. Because if I take a moment to breathe, all of my feelings and thoughts and fears might rise up and overwhelm me. And who will be there to catch me if I collapse? No one.
But I feel more even-keeled than I have in a long damn time. It’s odd because nothing in my life is any sturdier than it was, and I haven’t fixed any of the problems plaguing me. But there’s a little more sunshine when I wake up in the morning these days. I’ll take it.
“Meh?” Becca says. “That’s all you have to say about him? What about the rants and tirades? Where’d all of that go?”
“What shape?” the nail tech asks.
“Almond, please,” I say.
“Almond. Okay.”
I smile at her before looking at Becca again. “You know, I’m not exactly sure.”
Becca’s lips twitch. “I think I know.”
“Do you now?”
“It’s probably buried in the middle of Banks Carmichael’s bed.”
I laugh. “He’s been a pretty great distraction.”
Becca pauses to inspect her plum-colored nails. “These look great. Perfect. Thank you.” Then she scoots over to the empty chair between us. “So tell me all about it. I’ve been working so much that I haven’t had time to ask you how it’s been going over there.”
I smirk. “It’s been … going.”
Her eyes twinkle. “That good, huh?”
“You have seriously no idea, Becca. None.”
She glances at the nail tech. “So is it everything we used to sit around with margaritas and imagine it would be?”
“It’s more than that. Better than that.” I swoon, thinking of Banks’s patience and sweetness—and how the switch can change to dirty in one hot second. “It’s different too, though.”
“How?”
I give the tech my other hand. “I don’t know. It’s like he makes you forget about everything else.”
“Oh, I bet he does.”
I laugh. “Yes, like that. But also in other ways.” How do I explain what I mean? How do you explain Banks Carmichael? “Do you know how sometimes you can have dinner with someone, and it’s you having dinner and them having dinner? You’re at the same place, at the same table, and sitting across from each other. But it’s very much you having your pasta and them having their steak or whatever.”
“Yeah. And that’s a great way to put it, actually. I watch so many people come in at Smokey’s and they don’t even say a word to each other. Or every time I stop at their table, they’re talking about the same thing. Or the topics are always something really superficial—the weather, whether we’re getting a Cane’s chicken restaurant or not, how bad the traffic is.”
“It’s not that way with Banks. Whatever you do with him, you’re doing it with him. I swear he’s up your ass all the time.”
Her brows shoot to the ceiling.
“Not like that,” I say, laughing. “Just like, if you’re making dinner, he’s right there asking to chop things. If you’re folding laundry, he sits down and fucks up the towels so you have to redo them when he’s not looking. I’ve been filling out applications, right? Rather than doing it alone, he sat in the living room and turned on a movie. He’s just … there, I guess.”