Total pages in book: 103
Estimated words: 100523 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 503(@200wpm)___ 402(@250wpm)___ 335(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 100523 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 503(@200wpm)___ 402(@250wpm)___ 335(@300wpm)
He was just thinking about friendship.
God, I’m so clueless. I can never read a man correctly. But at least Carter never lied to me. He never betrayed me. And I never ever want to lose him in my life. I will save our friendship no matter what.
I won’t become an Izzy, or Sasha, or Quinn. I won’t be a friend who became a lover and is now out of the picture.
I am going to keep this man in my life for all time. How? By being a great friend. I start walking again, and as I do, I circle back to his rain check comment. “A rain check sounds fab. Don’t even think twice about it,” I add with so much pep and sunshine you could bottle it.
I will show him I learned friend lessons too.
“But I wanted to…” he begins, except there’s so much noise where he is. Voices chattering. Someone saying play a hand before dinner. The sound of payouts on slot machines. “I wanted to be a better boyfriend.”
Wanted.
Past tense. As part of our lessons. As part of this pretend relationship. Because he values our friendship.
That. Is. All.
I have to exonerate him from his guilt. I can’t let him feel it a second longer over a simple mistake. Hell, I forget things too, and I don’t have ADHD. “You are a great pretend boyfriend, and our friendship means everything to me,” I say, gentle and caring as I reach the block with my store.
“Rachel, that’s not what I’m—”
But someone cuts him off, and his voice is muffled as he says, “Be right there” to whoever he’s with. When he comes back with a “Hey, so I was saying,” I’m quick to jump on the problem and fix it.
“Listen, when you come back, we’ll do our last un-date and call it good. The girlfriend lessons will be all done. Now go,” I say, with a bright smile in my voice that shows I am the supportive girlfriend he taught me to be. So I’ll be ready to be one for my maybe-someday down the road.
“Look, that’s not what I’m saying. But I really have to go. I’ll call you later and explain better.”
I don’t want him to see me as that fragile. I don’t want him to think I need that much attention. “Carter, I’m fine. Don’t worry. It’s not like I’m your real girlfriend,” I say with a forced laugh, like how ridiculous is that. “We’re just friends.”
He’s starkly silent for several long seconds. He lets out a weighty, “Right.” A sigh. “I have to go.”
And so do I. I’m at the shop, and someone is waiting outside the door for me.
It’s Ava and her perfectly coiffed blonde hair is tied up in an unkempt, unruly bun. She’s wearing jeans and a hooded sweatshirt. She looks nothing like the woman who floated into my shop a few weeks ago. Neither does she look like the woman I apologized to two weeks ago.
She looks everything like me when I learned the truth of my marriage.
When she spots me, we lock eyes. Hers fill with tears and apology, and she says, “You were right.”
My heart goes out to her. “Oh, honey.”
I bring her into my arms for a hug and do the only thing I can. I ask Fable to close up the shop, and I take Ava to my home, open a bottle of wine, and I listen as she pours out her heart for the next few hours.
41
JUST EVERYTHING
Carter
I’m standing in the middle of the blackjack tables at The Extravagant, my phone in my hand, the call over, wondering why my hands feel clammy, and my heart feels leaden.
Did she just break up with me before we even started?
I drag a hand through my hair, trying to sort out that bizarre phone call.
But Amar from Seductive is waiting for me at the poker tables, and so is his second-in-command, Naveen. They’re cool dudes, and I like my sponsors, but I wish I weren’t here right now. I wish I were in San Francisco so I could go bang on the door to Rachel’s house.
Show up at her store.
Ask for a do-over of that phone call.
Hell, it happens in football.
I motion to the guys that I’ll be right with them, then I turn and weave through the crowds, past the roulette games and the craps table, past the Aladdin and AC/DC slots, walking and thinking.
Doing my own instant replay.
If I were an official in this game, what would I see if I watched that scene in slo-mo, checking out every frame?
I’d see a woman who was overly friendly.
Who told me everything was fine.
Who said not to worry.
But you know what? I am fucking worried. About her. Because she thinks something that’s all wrong. She clearly thinks I just want to be friends with her. Hell, I’ve let her believe this. I believed it once upon a time too. I told her when we started that I didn’t want to go anywhere near a real date, and then I went and told her before we had sex that I didn’t want to ruin our friendship.