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)
Bafflement bursts into his expression.
“And tennis.”
It deepens.
“And herbal tea.”
“You’re full of shit,” he finally bites back. “You love herbal tea.”
“Ohmygod, I would rather scarf down three-day old black coffee than force myself to drink another cup of that shit.”
His jaw drops to the table.
“See, this is what I mean when I say there’s a difference between being comfortable versus being right for one another.”
This time the statement seems to sink in a little more.
“Xander, I lost a lot of myself during our time together…,” my honest confession has me forcing myself to stop hiding behind food to proceed. “And in the time that we’ve been apart, I have put in so much work to figuring out who I am. What I like. Where I wanna be and go. I’ve done some heavy-duty soul searching, and I think you need to do the same. Once you do, you’ll not only realize what we had wasn’t love so much as mutual convenience, you also might discover that climbing corporate ladders isn’t the key to happiness. Being truly happy is the key to happiness.”
“And you’re happy, Presley? Really happy?”
“Yeah.” Despite the fuck show of this morning and what is to come of it, it’s the truth. “I am. I really am.”
“Were you unhappy with me?”
His question tempts me into reaching for the tequila infused beverage as opposed to answering. “Yes.”
He slowly nods, although it’s crystal clear the information hurts.
“Look, I know everything between us ended very abruptly-”
“Putting it mildly,” Xander teasingly states. “One minute I’m proposing and the next morning I’m waking up alone unsure of what I did wrong.”
“It wasn’t what you did wrong.”
The correction quirks an eyebrow.
“It’s what I realized was wrong between us.”
Another slow nod is given as he lifts his drink. “Yes, I am starting to see some of those things.”
“We were wrong for each other romantically, but maybe we can be right for each other platonically?”
“Friends.”
“I was really trying to keep a good rhythm there, sir.” My playfulness prompts laughter from both of us. “I’m not saying let’s be besties and take trips to The Bahamas together-”
“You know I hate that they have swimming pigs.”
“Uh-huh,” the grin I grow is good-natured, “which is something I adore.”
His face twitches disgust.
“Why don’t we start at the beginning?” Spotting the waitress coming our direction, I suggest, “Why don’t we order some food and try getting to really know one another like we didn’t before? Spend time just…,” my shoulders innocently shrug, “chatting and bullshitting?”
Xander offers me a kind smile. “I’d like that.”
“Me too.”
And maybe a little more space from the other major issue I need to face will provide me with clarity on how to handle it.
At the very least, I’ll be pre-stuffed with plenty of tortillas to help keep me calm in what very well may be the end of my love life.
Again.
Chapter 23
Ryder
- “I’m always trying my hardest.” -
Time is an interesting fucking concept.
Some say it’s an illusion.
Some believe it can be manipulated.
What do I know about it?
That when you need it to move fucking faster rather than the slower, the shit adapts to a snail like speed.
The buzzing of my phone in my hands once more causes my heart to jump in hope that it’s Pres.
Shelly: We should binge Community next.
Shelly: Do you think that Presley would enjoy that one?
Hard to say what my girlfriend will do any more.
Never thought she’d just fucking disappear for the entire day without a single goddamn word.
Only reason I know she’s alive is because all six times I called her office, Clemmy said she was “unavailable” rather than “dead”.
New surges of frustration have me shoving the device back in my pocket and diving a hand into the jar of Jolly Ranchers wedged against me on her couch.
Like fun toothpick holders that are all around her townhouse, there are strange, shaped jars constantly filled to the brim with hard candies for the instant a craving for something different strikes. And to make it more comforting rather than mocking, I’m not entirely sure what type I’m gonna find when I reach into one. Pres mixes them up to keep me on my toes. To keep the practice of reaching for a treat rather than poison fun.
Uplifting.
Fuck, where is my woman now to help rescue me from the substance siren who is doing everything in her powers to convince me that one little cigarette won’t hurt?
One quick bong toke won’t be the end of the fucking world.
One tiny little pill won’t ruin all the months I’ve put in.
I yank my hand out of the jar and throw the handful of candy I had collected elsewhere, allowing the hand to meet the other in my unwashed hair.
I tug.
And tug.
And pull, looking for the reprieve I know is there if I just anchor onto it.
Rocking on her couch slowly begins while the FRIENDS audience laughter mocks me.