Total pages in book: 163
Estimated words: 164828 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 824(@200wpm)___ 659(@250wpm)___ 549(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 164828 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 824(@200wpm)___ 659(@250wpm)___ 549(@300wpm)
“Don’t meet up with him yet,” I warn her. “Find out if he’s a serial killer first.”
“I don’t care.” She tuts. “It would be worth it. If he fucks like that, he can do what he wants to me.”
We all giggle.
“What a way to go.”
An hour later, I get into the elevator in my building and my phone vibrates in my handbag. I dig it out. The name Phyllis lights up the screen.
Shit. Nathan’s mother. I’m supposed to be making the fucking birthday cake. I haven’t spoken to Nathan at all. What am I going to tell her?
I steel myself to answer happily.
“Hi, Phyllis.”
“Hello, darling.”
“How are you?” I smile. I really don’t have to pretend to be nice. I adore this woman.
“I’m so looking forward to seeing you both this weekend.”
“Did you speak to Nathe?”
“No, he’s not answering his phone. He must be working.”
I roll my eyes, knowing he’s not working. He’s just not answering her. I speak to his mother more than he does.
“Yes, he must be,” I lie.
Jerk.
“Listen, darling, I was wondering… do you think I should get some extra catering in for Saturday night?”
“Why?”
“Because all these people who weren’t originally coming have all messaged me and are now coming after all.”
“Oh. Have you added to the menu since we worked everything out?”
“No, and now there are close to sixty people coming. I’m freaking out that I don’t have enough food. Do you think that would be enough?”
“I’ll have to look at our list but don’t worry, we can make extra if we need to.”
Nathan’s mother doesn’t have a daughter. I’m it.
“I don’t want you cooking all day on Saturday,” she says.
“I really don’t mind. You know I love cooking.” And besides, it will also mean less time I have to spend with him.
“Oh, darling, thank heavens I have you. Jessica offered to help but we both know what her cooking is like. I’ll leave her to drink wine with us while we cook.”
“She’s good at that.” I giggle. Jessica is Nathan’s brother’s girlfriend. She’s hilarious, and it’s true, a terrible cook who burns everything she touches. But she definitely entertains us in the kitchen. “I’ll look at the list and call you back, okay?”
“Okay, speak soon.”
I hang up and text Nathan.
What time is our flight tomorrow?
He texts back.
You don’t need to come.
My head nearly bursts with frustration.
I’m not coming to see you, you conceited jerk.
What time is the flight?
No answer. I walk up the corridor and wait… and wait…
I open the door as I stare at my phone. Text back, asshole.
I’ll pick you up at 5:00 p.m. from work.
I text back.
Don’t be late.
An answer immediately bounces back.
Don’t push me.
I narrow my eyes, and text back.
Don’t you push me!
* * *
5:00 p.m. on the dot, my phone beeps with a text.
I’m downstairs.
I exhale heavily. Just reading his name on a text infuriates me. This weekend should be interesting. No fighting, I remind myself.
I look around, have I forgotten anything?
I grab my small suitcase and jacket, and I make my way downstairs.
Nathan’s black Tesla is parked in a loading zone. He sees me approaching, gets out of the car, and he takes my bag from me.
“Hi,” he says in a clipped tone as he puts it in the trunk.
“Hi.” Without making eye contact, I get in the car and slam the door.
Moments later, he pulls out into traffic. His jaw ticks as he looks in the rearview mirror. He’s clenching his teeth, and I know he’s still pissed. This is all apparently my fault.
Well, screw him.
He’s acting like a complete baby.
So what? We got drunk and had a momentary brain snap. So what? He had an erection. I’ve felt that damn thing in my back every morning for two years, he’s kidding himself if the thinks this is something new for me. He’s acting like he’s been violated or something. He was there and in the moment, too, but of course, he’s blaming me.
Ugh…. boils my blood just thinking about it.
I cross my arms and look out of the window. Well, if he doesn’t want to talk, neither do I.
Twenty silent minutes later, we arrive at the airport, and Nathan pulls into the long-term parking lot. He scans his card, and the boom gate rises to let us in. My eyes flick over to him.
He parks, gets out of the car and goes to the trunk. He puts my suitcase down.
“I’m surprised Samuel didn’t drive you here,” he says dryly.
I roll my eyes. “Here we go.”
“I’ll give you here we fucking go.”
I snatch my suitcase off him and march off toward the check-in lounge. I can hear his suitcase wheeling along behind me.
“Don’t walk off on me.”
“I’ll do whatever I want.” I huff.
“Don’t push me.”
“Nathan,” I warn. “Cut it out, stop acting like a baby.”
I march on, and he hurries to catch up with me. We get to the road and he grabs my hand. I don’t pull away because I know he’ll go thermonuclear. My road crossing skills aren’t worth the meltdown.