Total pages in book: 87
Estimated words: 80517 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 403(@200wpm)___ 322(@250wpm)___ 268(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 80517 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 403(@200wpm)___ 322(@250wpm)___ 268(@300wpm)
After I finish, I walk up to my office where I open my computer. I go through the emails that the PR girl has sent me about the travel schedule. There’s a ten-day road trip in three weeks. Then we get five days off. I check the calendar and see if maybe I could get away. I pull up some vacation to Cabo, some to California. I mess around on Facebook. I’m shocked to have a friend request from his sister Allison. I ignore it for a second, wanting to talk to Matthew about this. Noticing the time, I’ve spent four hours doing nothing on the computer. I have to meet Vivienne in less than twenty minutes. I put on a coat of mascara, throw on some yoga pants with a tight camisole, a jacket, and scarf. I make it to the store in record time.
I spot Vivienne right away, her hair the color of a red velvet cake, long to the waist, in bouncy curls. She sits there wearing her black tight jeans, black shirt, and a peach color jacket. Her accessories are all black. I take the seat in front of her while she looks up.
“Enfin.” Finally, she says in French. I air kiss her from my side of the table.
“Please, you probably just got here.” I glance around and then at my phone. “I’m one minute late.”
“I’ve been here for four minutes. You know how I have a phobia about sitting alone in restaurants.” This is true. She won’t even eat in a fast food restaurant by herself. She would rather go through the drive thru and eat in the car. “So tell me”—she looks at me—“no sex yet, I can see.”
I scoff at her. “How can you tell?” I say, grabbing one of the coffee cups on the table. It’s our thing that whoever gets there first buys the coffee and croissants. I pick a piece off, chewing. “I could have spent all night having sex.”
She leans forward on the table. “Chérie”—sweetheart in French—“you wouldn’t be able to walk.”
“I would so be able to walk. Maybe his penis is small.” I cringe because it’s the opposite of the truth.
She slams her hand on the table, drawing attention from the other people in the shop. “Lies.” She pulls out her phone, typing something on it, showing me a picture that Matthew is posing for. He’s in shorts and is flipping over what looks like a tractor tire. His abs are so defined you can see each muscle. His arms are huge with drops of water shining in the sun. The sweat leaking down all over him, his stare is on the camera and not on the tire that might break his nose. “This doesn’t come avec une petit penis,” she says small penis in French in case the French owners can’t understand her.
I sit back in my chair about to answer her when my phone rings. “Hello.”
“Where are you?” is barked out.
“Well, hello, sunshine.” I roll my eyes.
“You aren’t home?”
“Wow, aren’t you Sherlock Holmes. What is the problem?”
“I’m home.”
“Okay.” I peer at Vivienne, who is snickering like she is drunk. “So you're home. I still don’t understand. What do you want?”
“Where are you?”
“I’m out with my friend having coffee.”
“Where? I’ll come meet you.”
I’m already shaking my head while Vivienne yells out the coffee shop’s name.
“See you in five.” And he disconnects.
“Great.” I put the phone down. “Thanks for that!”
“De rien,” she says I’m welcome.
I get up, going to the counter and ordering two more croissants. I sit down and am about to take a bite when I hear the bell over the door chime. I know right away it’s him because I see Vivienne’s eyes almost bulge out of her head and her mouth hangs open.
“Hey, babe,” he says, kissing my lips and sitting next to me.
“We are in public.” I point out to him. “Anyone can see.”
He shrugs his shoulders, picking the hat off his head to scratch it and then putting it backward.
“Menteuse!”You liar, Vivienne yells next to me. “He is so hot.”
I roll my eyes while Matthew puts his arm around my chair and moves his thumb against my back. “He’s not that hot.”
Vivienne laughs at me, leaning in. “Did you go to the optometrist again and they put that dye in your eye making you see blurry?” she asks me with a serious face.
“No. Meet my friend Vivienne.”
He smiles.
“The last time she did that exam she broke her foot walking into her bedroom door.” She laughs, picking up her coffee cup. “Remember you had to get that scooter for your foot?”
“Okay, so this has been fun,” I say, getting up.
“Relax, sit down,” Matthew says, leaning in to grab a croissant and chewing it. “These are awesome.”
“They are,” I agree with him, sipping my cold coffee.