Total pages in book: 82
Estimated words: 77959 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 390(@200wpm)___ 312(@250wpm)___ 260(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 77959 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 390(@200wpm)___ 312(@250wpm)___ 260(@300wpm)
Pulling out my cell phone once I’m out of the building, I send thank-you texts to Libby and Mac, who both messaged to say happy birthday, then one to my mom and dad telling them how excited I am to see them in a few days. Even though it’s my birthday, tonight is going to be a very low-key night; all I want to do is go home, put on a pair of yoga pants and a sweatshirt, walk my girl, order a pizza, and go to bed. Okay, I kind of want to add seeing Levi in there somewhere, but I still don’t know if that’s smart. I can’t figure out if he’s different or just like every other gorgeous man I’ve ever met.
Hopping on the subway, I take the train uptown and get off at my stop, then walk the two blocks to my building. As soon as I’m home, I take care of parts one and two of my plans for the night. I put on my yoga pants and hoodie as soon as I get home, then take out Muffin, who wasn’t at all happy about having to go out in the cold on a short walk—or drag—through the park. By the time I make it back to my apartment, it’s almost six, and my hunger has turned into starvation.
Pacing back and forth in my apartment, I groan. Levi said that if I wanted company on my birthday to just knock on his door, but the idea of actually doing that is making me feel sick. I wanted to just order pizza, then maybe go over and see if he wanted some, but then I thought, what if he doesn’t like the kind of pizza I like? What if he’s allergic to pineapples and he ends up going into shock from eating them, or what if he was just being nice and he didn’t actually mean for me take him up on his offer? “Stop being stupid,” I say out loud, putting my hand to the knob. I release it just as quickly and resume pacing. “This is getting ridiculous.” Shoving my shoulders back and lifting my chin, I put my hand on the knob.
The moment I swing my door open, my empty stomach turns with nausea, along with something else that I’m not willing to acknowledge, as I stare at the woman standing just outside Levi’s closed door. She’s gorgeous, model gorgeous, with thick, dark hair; tan skin; and a willowy figure that would make even Libby jealous.
Turning her head toward me, she smiles a beautiful, blinding-white, perfectly straight-toothed smile. “Hi,” she chirps, and a muscle in my chest constricts.
“Uh . . . hi. Sorry, I thought you were my pizza,” I lie, and she tilts her head to the side and giggles. Even her giggle is beautiful, I think with disgust, then panic when I see Levi’s door start to open.
“’Bye.” I slam my door quickly and drop my face to my hands.
Oh my god, I’m an idiot. Why did I think for one moment that he wouldn’t have a girlfriend? Why the hell didn’t I ask him when he asked me if I had a boyfriend?
This is why I don’t date. I don’t know how to date—I have no clue when a guy is actually interested or when he’s just being nice. “God, you are a loser.” Tears burn my eyes, and I curse the fact that my period is due any day now. I’m not a wuss unless it’s that time of the month—then I cry and blubber about everything under the sun, even stupid laundry detergent commercials with cute little bears in them.
Feeling Muffin press into my side, I fall to the floor and pull her down to my lap so I can cry ugly, fat tears into her fur. “It’s just going to be me and you forever,” I moan into her coat as she consoles me with a lick up my cheek. “I’m going to end up old and alone like Aunt Margret,” I wail, feeling completely sorry for myself. “One day when I’m still single at fifty, I’m going to think that some hot twenty-year-old who’s only after my money wants me because I’m so desperate for love.” I sniff, burying my face deeper into Muffin’s wiry fur, hearing her whine, then feel her press her cold nose against my neck. With a hiccup I give her one last squeeze and pull myself up off the floor.
As much as I want to sit around and feel sorry for myself, my stomach won’t let me. I know if I don’t eat I will likely pass out from hunger. Wandering over to the kitchen, I search through the cupboards for something to fill the void in my stomach, since there is no way I will be ordering pizza—the idea alone has my stomach turning. Finally, in the last cupboard, I find a can of chicken and stars soup and some crackers my mom brought me when I had the flu last year. Looking at the expiration dates on both, I know I will be testing fate if I eat them, but desperate times call for desperate measures. Dumping the soup into a bowl, I place it in the microwave, setting the timer for three minutes, then open the package of crackers. Taking a small bite out of one, I sigh in relief when it’s not as hard and stale as it should be.