Total pages in book: 20
Estimated words: 18990 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 95(@200wpm)___ 76(@250wpm)___ 63(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 18990 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 95(@200wpm)___ 76(@250wpm)___ 63(@300wpm)
“And then you were left disappointed.”
Who wouldn’t be disappointed? Why does that thought hurt so much?
“I wanted you, Katie. I’ve wanted you for so damn long. Don’t you know that?” He rubs the back of his neck and stares up at the ceiling. “I’ve spent months taking cold showers because of you.”
“Don’t try to make me feel better.” The lies he’s telling hurt worse than if he’d wounded me with the truth.
I move to leave the room, stepping around him.
He reaches out and grips my upper arm. His touch is firm. “Why are you the only one who can’t see how incredibly sexy you are?”
“Don’t do this to me.” I pull away from him and leave the hotel room, ignoring the way he calls my name. His footsteps sound behind me and I yank on the full skirt of my dress, pulling it up as I sprint for the elevator.
I slip inside the metal carriage just as the doors begin to close.
Michael comes to a stop, steps away from the doors. “We have something here, Katie. Don’t let your insecurities ruin this.”
The doors close, blocking out anything else he was going to say. I don’t let myself cry in the elevator or in the hotel lobby as I wait for an Uber driver to show up. I don’t even cry on the ride home.
Mom is on the couch as usual with a glass of wine in her hand. She takes one look at me and in a rare moment, she sees me. “What’s wrong?”
I sit on the opposite end of the couch. “I slept with my boss,” I admit. I need to say the words out loud, so they’ll stop choking me.
She frowns. “You mean the hottie from earlier?”
I shrug and glance at my dress. Carefully, I trace the cherry pattern with my fingers. The way he touched me, the things he said. Why did he have to do that? Why did he have to read my books?
“He didn’t want me.” It hurts to say those words. My heart is shattered. Even if I do manage to find all the broken pieces, I doubt there’s enough glue in the whole world to put it back together again.
“He just…wanted the girl from my books,” I whisper those words. My throat is raw, and I have to blink away the tears.
I hope this is the part of the night where my mom will wrap her arms around me and say she’s so sorry. Where she’ll tell me that my broken heart will one day heal, like Michael did for his daughter.
But Mom takes another long sip of her wine. She smacks her lips together as she swallows. “Well, what did you expect?”
My heart sinks and I manage a brittle laugh, so she won’t know just how deeply her words hurt. “Yeah, you’re right. What did I expect?”
9
KATIE
“Up now,” My mom nudges my legs the next morning.
I roll over in my bed and pull the covers above my head. I’d rather go back to sleep where I don’t have to think about Michael or last night or how incredible I felt for a couple of hours. Like I could actually be wanted by someone.
But it was all a silly dream. I was Cinderella for a night then it was over.
There’s the sound of my curtains being yanked open then my blanket is stripped from me. The sudden light is blinding.
I try to grab for my comforter, but my mom steps out of my reach.
She says in a sing-song voice, “We’re going shopping today.”
“I’m not in the mood.” After my conversation with her, I came into my room and spent most of the night crying into my pillow. Now my head feels heavy and my eyelids are puffier than marshmallows.
“You don’t need to sit around and mope over a man,” she tells me. “The best thing for a broken heart is retail therapy.”
Finally, I realize what this is. She’s trying to cheer me up in her own clueless way. “I’ll go on one condition. I’m getting a milkshake and I don’t want to hear about the calories in it.”
She makes a motion like she’s locking her lips.
After I put on a cute red swing dress and some makeup, we head to one of my mom’s favorite clothing stores. We’re not able to shop in the same places, but I tell myself it’s the thought that counts.
I search absently through the racks, more to appease my mom than because I actually care. Besides, none of this stuff comes in my size. It’s designed for women who didn’t have a triple chocolate milkshake with a double order of fries on their way here.
“See this one?” Mom does a twirl when she steps out of the dressing room in a green-sequined dress.
“It’s cute.” I can’t manage to put the usual amount of fake enthusiasm in my voice.