Total pages in book: 96
Estimated words: 88456 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 442(@200wpm)___ 354(@250wpm)___ 295(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 88456 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 442(@200wpm)___ 354(@250wpm)___ 295(@300wpm)
“Zoey,” Josh says to me when I’m getting up.
“I want to thank you,” Nash says when he is standing next to Josh, looking down at him. “Thank you for fucking up with her because I will never forget how important and special she is.” He reaches for my hand. “She will never, ever have to wonder if I’m committed to her. I’ll show her every fucking day.” He pulls me to his side, dropping my hand so he can wrap his around my waist. My hand comes up on his chest. “You ready, baby?”
I bend my head to silently laugh before looking over at Josh. “One month,” I tell him. “Actually, it might be even longer since we had that last meal together where I gave you that ultimatum.” He glares at me. “Then you saw my wedding picture on Instagram and what did you do?” I ask him, but like Nash I’m not waiting for him to answer. “You called and texted instead of getting on a fucking plane and coming to me. If you wanted me so bad, you would have moved heaven and earth to find me.”
“I wasn’t just going to show up in Vegas,” he says, as if the thought alone was ridiculous.
“Yeah,” Nash and I both answer at the same time.
“I mean, not that I would let you anywhere near my wife,” Nash chimes in.
“Then I went on vacation, and I’ve been back in LA for a week. It took you a week to come and see me.” I shake my head. “I was out of the house for five minutes before Nash chased me. That’s someone who wants to be committed to me.” I point at Nash. “Not this.”
“Two and a half,” he whispers in my ear. “Had to make sure you actually left.”
“Not now,” I hiss at him. “I hope that you get the point now, Josh. I’m not answering your phone calls anymore. I’m not going to meet you for anything else. It’s over.” I look at Nash. “Now, I’m ready to go.” He nods at me, slides his hand from around my waist, and takes my hand. “Goodbye, Josh.”
Twenty-Two
Nash
The minute she says, “Goodbye, Josh,” I turn and walk out of the restaurant, pulling her with me. We walk past the hostess station, and I give her a quick nod. When I walked in, she smiled up at me and asked me if I had a reservation. It took me less than three seconds before my eyes found Zoey, and I ignored her, walking straight to the table. I don’t even know which table I took the chair from; I just know it was in passing to their table.
“Have a great night,” she says from behind me as I push the door open and step outside of the restaurant. My body feels like it’s one big fucking nerve ready to fucking explode. I spot my car and make my way over to it. Stopping behind it, I wait for her to open the doors.
“Where is your car?” Zoey asks from behind me, and I look over at her, stopping and turning to face her.
“I took an Uber,” I tell her, and she lifts her eyebrows at me.
“You were so sure I’d leave with you?” She folds her arms over her chest.
I lean against the trunk of my car, putting one foot on the bumper. I didn’t want to do this with her here, but it’s been fucking brewing all fucking day long. “If you hadn’t”—I try to keep my cool—“I would have carried you over my fucking shoulder, but only after I ordered the most expensive bottle of wine for that dickwad to pay for.” I point at the restaurant. Not sure I want to point out that he still isn’t fucking chasing her.
“He’s not a dickwad,” Zoey counters, and it’s the wrong fucking thing to say right now.
“Who asks a married woman to go out on a date with them?” I hold up my two hands, waiting for her to give me an answer.
She tries to hide her smile, making me go from borderline Hulk pissed off to wanting to grab her face and kiss the ever-loving shit out of her. “A dickwad.” She looks down. “Are we really having this discussion in a parking lot?” She looks around.
“No,” I say but I don’t move, “but we are going to address this.”
I can see her eyes start to get irritated, and I know her annoyance is growing when she folds her arms over her chest as she cocks a hip. “What if one of my exes,” I point at myself, and the minute I say exes, the irritated look goes to pissed off, “asked me to go out to dinner?”
“Which one?” She raises her eyebrows, definitely fucking pissed, and I’m happy she’s pissed because I’ve been pissed since fucking Monday, and it’s now Saturday. “Should we start at the letter A?”