Total pages in book: 76
Estimated words: 69371 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 347(@200wpm)___ 277(@250wpm)___ 231(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 69371 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 347(@200wpm)___ 277(@250wpm)___ 231(@300wpm)
"Oh," Edward responds, looking at Luke and then at me.
"Not that way back." My voice comes out cracking, and I clear my throat. "We went to college together a long time ago." I smile at Edward. "He dated my best friend at the time. Then he came through when Travis was going to get married." I look back up at Luke. "Is Mikaela not here today?" I ignore my erratic breathing as I try to control it and press down the nerves.
"She is, but I'll be the one working with you tonight,” he states. My head yells fuck no, and I have to bite down on my tongue to make sure that the words don't actually come out.
"Great," Edward says. "Someone who knows my girl."
"I guess that would be me." He just looks at me, and I look away, taking the glass of water and drinking it. Hoping that it goes down past the lump in my throat. "I'll be back with some food, yeah."
He walks away, and I make the mistake of watching his ass move. "Are you all right?" Edward asks, and I whip my head back to him. "You look a little flushed."
Putting my hand to my face, I can feel the heat from it. Was I this flushed the whole time? "It's a little hot in here." I look around and see that the entire restaurant is full. "I'm going to go to the restroom,” I say, and he leans and kisses my lips. I smile at him, not saying anything. Grabbing my purse, I wait for him to get up, then scoot over to get out of the booth. Swinging one foot out, I stand, hoping my knees don't give out. "I'll be right back," I assure him, standing up in front of Edward and looking up at him.
I turn to walk away from him, making my way to the bathroom. I push open the brown door and head straight to the sink, looking at myself in the mirror. My cheeks look like I've been sitting in the sun too long or drinking too much scotch. "What the heck is he doing here?" I ask myself, hoping that someone gives me an answer. The last thing I expected for tonight was running into Luke. I put my hand on my stomach when I think about the last time I saw him. I shouldn't feel this way. My body should not feel like this. "Traitor," I mumble, looking down at my heaving chest.
I'm engaged. I look at myself, reminding my brain of this. I have a fiancé who I love. But do you? When he proposed to me, all I could do was look around at all the faces staring at me. How could I have said no? My thirtieth birthday became our engagement party, which then led to the night I slept on my bathroom floor for the first time ever. When I woke up in the morning, Edward was there with a glass of water and two ibuprofen and a calendar.
If it was up to him, we would have been married within two weeks, but thankfully, my sister told him the earliest they could plan a decent wedding was four months. I knew they were giving me time, especially since we planned a kick-ass event in seventy-two hours. So for the past four months, I've been planning my wedding, even though it doesn't feel right. Even though I think we should take more time. From everything that I've read online and in the magazines, this is a normal reaction. It doesn't mean I don't love him. It means I'm not sure about giving up who I am. Even listening to my own words, I want to yell that it's a crock of shit. But instead, I grab my phone and text my sisters.
Me: We have a situation.
"It's going to be fine." I look at my reflection in the mirror and set down the phone. Turning on the cold water, I put my hand under the stream to make my hand cold before placing it back on my face to cool it down. I wet both cheeks twice when my phone beeps, and I pick it up, seeing that Presley answered.
Presley: I'm sorry, the person you are trying to reach about this situation does not care. Do you know why? Because the last time you had this type of text message, it was because you couldn't get powder-blue napkins, which, I may add, is not a situation. Finding the groom fucking his best man? Now that’s a situation. Finding the bride blowing one of the groomsmen? That's a situation.
I grind my teeth, my fingers flying over the phone.
Me: I'm not kidding. This is a huge situation.
I press send at the same time Shelby chimes in.
Shelby: Can the situation be tabled until tomorrow? Ace just got in, and he was gone all week.