Total pages in book: 104
Estimated words: 99675 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 498(@200wpm)___ 399(@250wpm)___ 332(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 99675 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 498(@200wpm)___ 399(@250wpm)___ 332(@300wpm)
I chew my candy slowly, my brows halfway up my head. “So you don’t want a baby shower?” Her nostrils flare and I know not to push her any farther. “No wedding and no baby shower. You’re no fun. For the record, I want you to make a big deal out of mine––unless I’m forced to marry my prison mistress, in which case let’s never talk about it.”
“No one is becoming a prison wife. At least, no one I know.” She gives me one of her signature side-eye smirks. “And I had a wedding.”
“City Hall does not count. Speaking of weddings, Parker’s getting married at the botanical gardens.”
Camilla’s large brown eyes widen then narrow. “That’s where you wanted to get married––how do you know?”
“Facebook.”
With a disapproving frown, she says, “I thought we agreed you were going to stop using.”
“It’s either Facebook, or flog myself.”
“I hope he gets gangrene of the testicles.” She says this with a look of pure disgust on her face. This pregnant version of my best friend is proving a lot of fun.
“I like where your head’s at. Speaking of testicles, my roommate is giving me blue balls.” She seems unimpressed by my prior statement so I up the ante. “He kissed me.”
Her eyes cut to mine again, this time sparkling with interest. “He did?”
I slow nod. “It was good, too.”
Good? The understatement of the year. More like burn the house down good, no chaffing dishes required.
“And?”
“And nothing. Nothing can happen. He could get disbarred. Apparently it’s unethical to sleep with your prisoner, or ward, or whatever I am.”
“Imagine that,” the wiseass drawls.
“My book boyfriends aren’t even cuttin’ it anymore.” I point my fifth Swedish fish at her. “This could get ugly if I don’t get laid soon.”
She slips the cream dress over her head. “I’m still processing that you aren’t sleeping with Justin.”
Time for the obligatory eye roll. “Why is that so hard to believe?”
“Oh, I don’t know––maybe because he was always coming over and hanging out in your bedroom when I lived with you. What else would you be doing in there?”
“Talking. He’s a big talker. There was a small window of opportunity in the beginning. Until he told me I reminded him of his older sister, the one who raised him, and that window closed in a New York minute.”
“Nooo,” she says, choking back laughter as she zips up the dress.
“Yep.” I shove a handful of the gummy bears in my mouth. “Young men. Gotta love ‘em. Be glad you dodged the dating bullet twice.”
Camilla turns toward me, the cream dress hitting her in all the right places.
“What do you think?”
“I think we have a winner.”
Audrey has been texting with alarming frequency lately. Three nights ago, as I was going through my lines for yet another commercial I found out this morning I did not get a callback for, I got this at eleven pm.
Funsize: what’s your favorite type of food?
Me: Italian. Shouldn’t you be asleep?
Funsize: me too!!!!
Me: Easy with the !!!!
Funsize: who was your first kiss and how old were you?
Oh shit sticks.
Me: I was 26 and it was at my engagement party.
Funsize: :(((((((
Me: :/ fine it was Robert Winchell and it was a spin the bottle situation. I was 14.
An egregious lie. I was barely thirteen, but she doesn’t need to know that. The texts didn’t stop there.
Funsize: what’s your favorite color?
Funsize: If you were a Game of Thrones character, who would you be?
Me: You’re allowed to watch GOT??!!
If this is anything like what I put my grandmother through, I would’ve gotten rid of me. The texts eventually graduated to phone calls. This happened last night at…you guessed it, eleven pm.
“What do I do to get a guy I like to notice me?”
Not even a hello. What happened to hello, please, and thank you? My grandmother would have a conniption if she knew.
“Nothing––until you turn seventeen.”
“Come on.”
I chew on her question for a long while. “I don’t think anyone can answer that question, Audrey––Oprah can’t even answer that question.”
“Please, Amber,” she whines.
“Who is this boy?”
“His name is Grady and he plays baseball and draws his own comics and he’s a really good artists.”
“He’s in your grade, right?”
“Yeah. We sit next to each other in art.”
Thank God for small favors. “Well, the short version is that boys are dense and they only see what they want to see. The long version is that sometimes it takes a grand gesture to get their attention.”
“A grand gesture?”
“Yeah, something that puts you under the spotlight and shows them how awesome you are and that they’ve been missing out.” I can’t believe the bullshit coming out of my mouth. However, I suspect she won’t stop until she gets something out of me.
“So…what do I do?”
“Since you noticed how talented he is maybe you can find a way to show him how talented you are.”