Total pages in book: 51
Estimated words: 47854 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 239(@200wpm)___ 191(@250wpm)___ 160(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 47854 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 239(@200wpm)___ 191(@250wpm)___ 160(@300wpm)
Luke’s jaw tensed. He wanted to pounce. “You won’t touch me.”
Khloe tilted her head, not realizing just how badly she was taunting the beast. “You’ll never see me coming.”
She stood up straight to address the group again with a clap of her hands. “I know that we haven’t been a match made in heaven, but it’s not about us, it’s about Kent and Anna. So please get home safely, get to the wedding, and then you’ll be free to go your way, and I’ll be free to stop giving a damn.”
She didn’t wait for a response. She turned, flicking her hair about her full face, and left.
The guys all remained quiet as she walked out. It was unspoken among all of us, Kent included to a certain extent: Khloe was fucking hot.
Kent finally let out a hollow whistle and tapped Luke’s shoulder. “Wanna get the next round with me?”
“I would,” Luke responded, grabbing the bottle nearest him to empty it, only to discover it was already empty, “but my dick is harder than a fucking post. Rain check?”
He too didn’t wait for a response. He stood up from the table, and stormed from the restaurant.
Kent sighed. “What are the actual chances he’s able to resist her until after the wedding?”
I shook my head with a chuckle. “Why don’t I buy you the next round?”
The rest of the guys started laughing because we all knew that those chances were probably zero.
4
Khloe
I felt like one of those cartoon characters with steam coming out of their ears. If all I had to do was usher six of those assholes through this wedding, I could probably do it without issue, but throw Luke into the mix and it made me want to give Anna her money back and walk away without another word. Every person who offered me a friendly smile and a “Happy Holidays!” as I walked along ran the risk of getting full-fledged cussed out as I wanted to take my anger out on anyone or anything I could.
It was a good thing when I was finally angrily shoving my apartment key into the lock to let myself in. “Fucking asshole Luke,” I hissed. I stormed into my apartment, tossed my purse and keys to the table by the door, and made my way immediately into the kitchen for a bottle of wine. “Wouldn’t touch him? He’d be dead before he heard me.” I popped the cork and, not even bothering with a glass, I pressed the glass bottle to my lips and tipped it, tasting the sweet, white wine as it passed down my throat.
I spent the next few minutes changing into more comfortable clothes. I donned a pair of leggings and one of my favorite fuzzy hoodies, put my hair up in a messy bun and then returned to the kitchen to make a mimosa and pretend I wasn’t just flat out day-drinking. I went and curled up on my bed, played music, and did my best to calm my mind, but it didn’t work. As I was sitting there stewing over Luke, my mind drifted back to my high school days. I was the resident fat-girl, and the target victim of the head cheerleader Tanner and her boyfriend Luke. My weight was just a gateway drug to ‘ugly,’ ‘nerd,’ and ‘idiot,’ despite the fact that I have always been quite beautiful, never considered myself much of a nerd, and always got above average grades.
I assumed they just liked picking at the low-hanging fruit. One time, I was coming back from gym class and went in to change, to find that my clothes were gone and only a three sizes too small cheerleading outfit was left in its wake. With no way to call for help, and no one around but undoubtedly the bullies who were torturing me, I had no choice but to squeeze myself into the cheerleading outfit to at least go for help. When I opened the door to leave, at least half the cheerleading squad and their football boyfriends were standing there, cameras ready, which immediately started flashing the second I appeared. The blinding bright flashes paralyzed me in fear until I was finally able to back up enough to re-enter the locker room, slamming the door shut behind me.
I wasn’t certain how long I holed up in that locker room, crying my eyes out until they were raw, but eventually a guidance counselor came, who brought me a pair of sweatpants and a t-shirt, and helped me get out of the locker room and home without additional ridicule. I couldn’t go to school for an entire week after that, and when I finally did return, I found that my tormentors’ punishment was so light that they were still giggling and pointing at me when I returned. A mere slap on the wrist for a lifetime of emotional damage.