Total pages in book: 92
Estimated words: 93699 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 468(@200wpm)___ 375(@250wpm)___ 312(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 93699 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 468(@200wpm)___ 375(@250wpm)___ 312(@300wpm)
“As much as I can believe the writers are bringing back the James guy who supposedly died two seasons ago,” I said.
“There’s too many secrets and too many lies!” She tossed a pillow at the screen. “This is why I hate watching soap operas.”
“The secrets and lies are the entire point of their existence.” I sighed, beyond grateful that this week’s episode of Love in His Grumpiness: The Dirty Bad Billionaire & His Sunshine Girl was over.
Then again, every dreadful scene was a much-needed distraction from thoughts of Travis. Since seeing him in the stairwell last week, I was struggling to focus on anything else.
His voice interrupted my ballet sessions, stretching the barre into the memories when he made love to me against one. His smile slipped into my morning coffee, reminding me of all the late nights we spent talking and laughing on the phone.
And his lips…
“The writers are dragging out the secret baby reveal like they know I’ll keep watching the next episode.” Penelope was still lost in La-La-land. “They really think I’m loyal to these storylines.”
“Aren’t you?”
“Beyond loyal. I’ll never stop watching and I hope this season never ends.” She laughed and rolled over to face me. “You know, days like this make me miss being roommates.”
“Really? They make me miss the days when we hated each other, when this show didn’t exist.” I joked, standing to my feet. “More Rainy Day wine?”
“You mean, orange juice?”
“I’m trying not to rub it in.” I caressed her baby bump. “Be right back.”
I walked into her opulent, all-white kitchen and pulled out new wine glasses and fruit garnishes.
Ever since we moved out of our shared apartment and went our separate ways, we made a promise to keep our Sunday morning mimosa routine intact. I showed up to her new place wearing pajamas, stifled groans through her terrible soap opera, and she tried not to roll her eyes too hard while we watched a vintage episode of Sailor Moon.
“Do you have any deep, dark secrets, Tati?” she asked when I returned. “Like, anything you haven’t told me?”
“Yeah, sadly. You didn’t misplace your ‘I’m the best figure skater alive’ shirt.” I smiled. “I burned it.”
“That’s it?”
“I lit the matching pants on fire, too.”
“I still have the sweater.”
“You sure about that?”
“Not anymore.” She laughed. “I’m just wondering how well I really know you.”
“No, you’re not.” I plopped down on the floor. “You’re regurgitating dialogue from that ridiculous show.”
“Okay, fine. I am,” she said. “In the spirit of Elsa and Tyler’s storyline, who’s the best guy you’ve ever fucked?”
Your brother. “Um…”
“Tell me.”
“The muse I envisioned whenever I was skating.” I set down my glass before I slipped up and said his real name. “Mr. Perfectly Complicated.”
As always, she lit up like a kid at Christmas, and guilt gnawed at my chest.
Penelope could recite some of my best memories with Travis by heart, and I never forgave myself for revealing them on drunken nights.
I thought our stories would be discarded and forgotten—like random tales about strangers on subways—but Penelope hoarded them like sentimental sweaters. She had favorites she begged me to unravel on bad days, likening them to “reading a romance novel in the rain.”
“Have you given up on finding that guy?” she asked. “You don’t talk about him anymore.”
“Yeah, I…” I needed to change the subject. “I think it’s best to leave the past in the past, you know? Anyway—”
“I think you two belong together,” she interrupted. “Based on everything you’ve told me, that is. How many guys would drive five hundred miles every other weekend just to kiss you? To let you cry on his shoulder in the car?”
“I’m sure lots of guys do that for their girlfriends. Let’s do some light ballet in your studio upstairs.”
“We can dance right here.” She stood up from the couch, stretching her arms. “Tell me the story about how he surprised you for the best birthday you ever had.”
“It’s been so long that I can’t remember it anymore.”
“I can.” She smiled. “He flew into town after a competition without telling you, and he stood in the parking lot with a huge bouquet of red roses.”
“Penelope…”
“His career was kind of taking off then, so he used his purse money—” She paused, laughing. “I know he didn’t call it ‘purse money,’ I’m just used to hearing Travis and all the fighters use that phrase all the time.”
I swallowed, sensing that she wouldn’t fall for any diversions.
“He used his extra money to treat you to a five-star dinner, a night at the best hotel in town, and the next day he treated you to the VIP experience at an anime convention you’d always wanted to go to. And then he….”
She blinked a few times and pressed a palm against her forehead, staring into space like she sometimes did when her memory lapsed—a byproduct of the tragic injury that ultimately ended her skating career.