Total pages in book: 135
Estimated words: 135955 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 680(@200wpm)___ 544(@250wpm)___ 453(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 135955 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 680(@200wpm)___ 544(@250wpm)___ 453(@300wpm)
“Maybe you need to take a more aggressive approach. Show him what he’s missing,” Ronnie suggests.
“You mean like volunteering to do an assessment on a drunk abuser just to have an excuse to be at the police station? How about prancing through the squad room in a dress that’s borderline inappropriate for work, perching my ass on his desk, and crossing my legs in order to showcase the sexiest pair of shoes I own?”
“Nice,” Janice breathes out. “What happened next?”
“I went on the ruse of getting his help for Harley’s bachelorette party. Which he not surprisingly shot down my idea. Then Ace showed up, and I explained why I was there in the first place. Major chastised me for visiting a criminal basically looking like I was walking the strip.”
“Walking the strip?” Bea purses her lips in confusion.
“Another way of saying walking the street—like a streetwalker,” Janice explains with an edge to her tone.
“Oh, sweet Jesus!” Bea jerks back. “Surely, he didn’t think that.”
“No, I don’t think he knew how it sounded. It was the implication that came out. I know he’s not intentionally a jerk; it’s not his style. It still stung, so I took last night off to avoid seeing him at the bar. He messaged me this morning with an apology.”
“What’s next?”
I think about Ronnie’s question and shrug. “Nothing much. We’re friends. Our lives are intertwined. It will be much easier when Harley and Ace move into their house, and I don’t risk the chance of seeing Major every time I visit. Take these few days to lick my wounded pride and then go back to normal.”
“He’s a dumbass, a blind and stupid dumbass.”
I don’t correct her. He’s a great guy.
“Why did he come here this morning, then? Maybe he recognized the error of his actions.” Bless Janice for sounding hopeful.
“He came for Ace,” I assume openly. “He came to feel out any tension and smooth things over.”
“I don’t think so.” Bea shakes her head. “That boy had regret and guilt written all over him.”
“It’s unnecessary. I don’t hold any hard feelings. We’ll be fine.”
Ronnie whisks away my glass and fills it again. “Don’t know what’s in his head, but you are too good for a putz like him.”
Once again, I don’t correct her. Instead, I motion to the dice on the table. “Now that I’ve unloaded my pitiful tale, can we play another round? Maybe one of these days actually play with teams like a real Bunco party?”
“Why would we ruin a perfectly great thing?”
“Because the point of the game is to socialize and have friendly competition amongst a group.”
She scowls.
I giggle, raising my glass her way. “Or the four of us can get drunk and let you continue to cheat.”
“Now you’re talking.”
“Eewhoa,” I slur into the phone.
“Jewls?”
“Hmmm?” I close my eyes, sinking further into my pillow.
“Hello? Are you there?”
“Pluh.”
“Oh my God, are you having a stroke?”
“Uh-uh.”
“Are you drunk?”
“Duhnah.”
“Duhnah? Is that English?”
Is Harley deaf? I clearly said not anymore.
I smack my lips, swallowing hard to get rid of my cottonmouth.
“Are you kissing the phone? Jewls, what’s the deal?”
“Bunco.” That should explain it.
“I missed Bunco night! Why didn’t you tell me?”
I’m tempted to hang up. My head pounds in rhythm to the high shrill of her voice.
“Quieter.”
The sound of her laughter is almost worse than the pitch.
“Do you need me to bring you anything? I’m driving to yoga.”
I groan, rolling to my side and peeking through the slits of my eyes. A bottle of water and two pills lay on the nightstand. Thank God I had some sense.
“No, I’m good.” My body protests when I sit, popping the pills and swallowing most of the bottle in one gulp. “Ronnie is the devil.”
“Ronnie is a professional. She drinks you under the table every time. I’m sorry I missed it.”
“You were with your fiancé.”
“I can have girl time, Jewls. Just because I’m getting married doesn’t mean it’s cool to be left out.” There’s an edge of pain in her voice and my gut twists.
“You’re right, won’t happen again. How was your night with Ace?”
I lean back, waiting for her to launch into one of her syrupy, head-over-heels in-love stories. Instead, she answers with a blasé, “It was good.”
“Good? Did something happen?”
“Of course not.” Her answer comes too quick, and all the fuzziness disappears from my alcohol-ridden brain.
“Harley, what’s wrong?”
“Seriously, nothing.”
“Then tell me about your night.”
“We went to dinner, came home, and watched hockey with the guys.”
Now my suspicions are on red alert. That is the lamest description she’s ever spewed. “That sounds like something my grandparents would do. And like complete horseshit. I had more excitement with my geriatric neighbors.”
She blows out a breath, and I can picture her chewing on her bottom lip.
“Seriously, Jay, what’s up?”
“I feel terrible. Last night, it hit me how selfish and insensitive I’m acting.”