Total pages in book: 97
Estimated words: 96586 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 483(@200wpm)___ 386(@250wpm)___ 322(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 96586 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 483(@200wpm)___ 386(@250wpm)___ 322(@300wpm)
“I so would’ve called an Uber, but they wanted to charge me fifty bucks for that shit,” she gripes too close to my ear.
Luckily for her, due to my girlfriend working so late – again –, she was too tired for me to come by, which meant I had plenty of time to stop binging The Office to go rescue the damsel in the denim beside me.
“And the only reason I even went to that party was my facialist heard from her facialist that Pierce Wyatt was gonna be there.”
The twitched question on my face immediately receives an answer.
“Yeah, that Pierce Wyatt.” She leans closer, although I wish she wouldn’t. “You know he’s on my celebrity bucket bang list.”
I do know that.
I wish I fucking didn’t.
Getting random texts about celebs she’d like to fuck is a weird thing.
Then again, Kara had an impressive ability to use the strange shit to start longer texting chats.
Her left field “I wanna bang Ben Affleck and Matt Damon in a threesome” one she sent two days ago led to me eating my lunch with one hand while arguing via typing with the other one which type was better – having the extra female or having the extra dude. It made lunch fly by. And it helped distract me from the fact my girlfriend didn’t text me once during the timeframe.
I get it.
She’s…busy.
But…too busy to even shoot me back a “hi you”?
Kara continues to ramble despite the fact someone new is in the front of the room explaining their tragedies. “How was I supposed to know there wouldn’t be anything non-alcoholic at the shindig?”
I turn my head to give her a sarcastic look.
“Oh, shut up, Collins,” she hisses at the same time she folds her arms firmly against her chest. “They should’ve at least had fucking mixers.”
The grunted chuckle out of me is followed by moving the toothpick in my mouth to the other side.
Turns out even with my favorite drug back in my life, the craving for the ones I used to replace her haven’t gone away. Days when shit between us is good? Thoughts of any substance that isn’t her or food is non-existence. Days when shit isn’t so fucking smooth? When I feel like I hear her voicemail more than I hear her or when our schedules don’t match because I’ve gotta go piss in a cup or be here? It’s those days that my mouth just constantly waters for a hit of something…fucking…anything…to help chill out my nerves.
Law knows.
I’ve told him.
He encourages me to talk through the shit bothering me.
Then he encourages me to talk to her about the shit.
Which I might if our time wasn’t so fucking limited, which leaves me wanting to use every second of it for us to feel good because I feel shitty all by myself.
The easy solution would be to just fucking move in together, but I know we aren’t ready for that shit.
I’m honestly just thankful she lets me crash at her place at all.
And thankful for the fact I don’t have to spend a fortune in rubbers.
Learning that she’s clean and on the pill, combined with me being able to prove I’m clean – an unexpected bonus to Noah’s health tests – has allowed us to fuck raw dog like rabbits. The fact neither of us have ever fucked without them before simply just adds to that feeling of belonging to one another and only another.
“I was dipping into my son’s college fund,” the man says in a melancholy tone, “behind my wife’s back…”
He continues to speak, but my attention drifts elsewhere.
Thoughts of Pres in a puffy white dress transform into images of her with a round stomach happily carrying our first child. That vision naturally morphs into one of me holding him. Then for some unknown reason, us fighting. And that fighting causes a craving that I evidentially can’t beat. One minute I’m shoving a cigarette in my mouth to help the stress, and the next it’s a blunt. Puffs of smoke from the rolled dose of pacification cloud my mind so thickly that I can’t breathe or see much of anything other than her walking out the door with our son on her hip and a suitcase being dragged with the other hand.
Clapping abruptly begins indicating the end of his tragic tale.
I slowly bang my hands together while struggling to come back to reality.
There’s no fucking way I’m going backwards or that I’d sacrifice her or our family for a few minutes of chemically induced comfort.
That was the old me.
I’m better now.
For me.
For her.
For the unborn children I want us to have together.
Fuck, we’re really not to the point in our relationship where I should bring that topic up.
“Right?” Kara’s voice unexpectedly infiltrates my thoughts right as Jan dismisses everyone for the evening.