Total pages in book: 176
Estimated words: 167940 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 840(@200wpm)___ 672(@250wpm)___ 560(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 167940 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 840(@200wpm)___ 672(@250wpm)___ 560(@300wpm)
“I’ll stay for exactly one hour.” Even as I say it, I can’t believe I’m not hightailing it out of this place, screaming. “For one hour I’m your wing woman, but within that hour, if your hands disappear into someone’s boxer shorts, I’m off. Do you hear?” That would just make for an even more awkward Monday morning. “Also, I’m not moving from the bar, so you’d better get this renaissance of yours kicked off tout de suite.”
“I will, definitely. Let’s go get a drink.”
I’m going to need a veritable bucket of the hard stuff.
“Oh, God, I feel so nervous.” At the large bar overlooking the Park, Beth fusses with her hair in the window’s reflection.
“You feel nervous,” I mutter, shooting her a grim look. “At least you’ve known all along what you were getting into.”
“Please don’t make me feel any worse than I already do.” She keeps her eyes resolutely on the window behind the bar, refusing to look at me. “I’m sorry. Really, I am. I know you don’t want to be here, but—”
“Of course I don’t want to be here—” Lowering my voice, I draw closer. “I’ll be buggered if the first time I have sex after five years is at an or—an adult lifestyle party.”
Beth’s expression turns a little crafty “You’re wearing the wrong-coloured ribbon for that.”
“What? No! Not buggered in the bum sense. I’m just not doing it.” My hand cuts through the air with finality. “Any of it.”
“Message received, loud and clear,” she says, bumping her shoulder against mine. “But thank you for staying to hold my hand. You know, the last time I was at a bar by myself was the night I met my ex-husband.”
“Did you meet him at a party like this?” Party. Urgh!
“No, some dive bar,” she answers with a small smile, her attention turning inward almost. “He was cute, and I was young. Or dumb. Not that it matters. He sidled up to me and said, ‘Can I buy you a drink or do you just want me to give you the money?’”
“That’s a weird chat-up line.”
“I thought it was endearing. And that he was handsome certainly helped. But as it turned out, he only had ten dollars in his pocket and couldn’t pay for my cocktail. So I paid, and he took the drink, and then three years later, he tried to take everything else I had.” Her gaze rises, coming back to the moment. “He took my money and my self-esteem. He made me forget who I am. So I’m not going to apologise for being here tonight, but I am sorry I brought you along without telling you the whole deal. I thought you’d be surprised but that you’d be happy. I guess I fooled myself about that, too.”
“I get it.” Even if I still don’t understand.
“I need this, Fee.”
“Like a B-list actress needs a sex tape scandal?”
She smiles sadly. “I couldn’t do it by myself.”
“I think you mean you’re tired of doing it by yourself.”
“That, too.” Her next smile is a small hopeful sort of thing.
“Okay.” My reply is more beleaguered sigh than agreement, despite our mini pun-fest. “I said I’d stay, didn’t I?”
“I just don’t want you to be angry.” She throws her arms around my shoulders, pulling me in for a hug
“You’re ruining your chances,” I mutter, fighting her off. “People will think you swing the other way.”
“Oh, I don’t think that will be a problem,” she replies, her gaze sliding to the window again . . . and the reflections of the men watching us in it. Oh, bloody hell. “In fact.” She turns to face me, resting her forearm against the bar, her fingers reaching up to slide a lock of hair behind my ear. “I think it might work in our favour.”
“Your favour,” I grate out through gritted teeth. Because as well as not being buggered, I’m not playing lesbian for the night.
“A dietician, you say?”
I nod even though that’s not at all what I said I did for a living, then take a sip from my second glass of vino, if for no other reason than to prevent me from speaking . . . and telling him to piss right off. Because he didn’t really ask what I did for a living. The arsehole doesn’t seem interested in anything but my white ribbon and the challenge it seems to represent. His friend, meanwhile, is wooing Bethany.
Wooing? Enticing? Well, whatever the sex party equivalent is. But she’s playing with her hair and acting all coy, so I think she’s into him. And for that reason alone, I’ll stay. At least until my hour is up or they slink off to a dark corner.
“You know, I like to watch, too.”
“Excuse me?”
“Your ribbon.” He reaches out as though to finger it when I jerk out of reach, jarring my back against the bar behind me. Not on your nelly, mate. No fingering the ribbon. Or the girl. “You like to watch,” he asserts. “As an experienced attendee, I happen to know if you like to watch, you’ll also enjoy participating.” His oddly overgroomed eyebrows waggle over the edge of his glass as he raises it. Eyebrows aside, he’s not bad looking, I suppose. The tux probably helps. But these are just observations because I have zero interest in being here for any longer than necessary.