Total pages in book: 129
Estimated words: 129110 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 646(@200wpm)___ 516(@250wpm)___ 430(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 129110 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 646(@200wpm)___ 516(@250wpm)___ 430(@300wpm)
The Nicest Man Ever: Bugger.
I immediately think about canceling my flight, which seems stupid but doesn't feel dumb.
I think better of it and don't.
Me: Yeah, I was just here to interview some celebrity.
The Nicest Man Ever: Oh yeah? Did you have fun?
Me: I did.
The Nicest Man Ever: Good.
I can’t wipe the ridiculous grin off my face.
Me: So... let me know the next time you’re in New York?
The Nicest Man Ever: Haha.
Oh I get it now. My nickname.
Me: You know what I meant!
Waiting for him to come to New York in an undisclosed amount of time in the future seems far. For a second I actually think about finding out when exactly that will be. My mind races, a million ways to ask at the very forefront. I need to know like I need my next breath, but I think better of it. Then I think about saying I’ll call him tomorrow, which is just beyond clingy. Thank god I think better of that too.
The Nicest Man Ever: Absolutely.
I don't respond, and I never imagined I'd be able to play anything so cool.
I like this calm and comfortable Elle. I like her a lot.
The next time I open my eyes there's light shining through the window and I jolt up in complete shock.
It’s the first time in forever that I slept through the whole night.
May
I've been home a week and my life is back to normal. It's like my best day ever never happened except in my head.
I'm starting to think it wasn't even real.
Travis is complaining we have no groceries. I’m no longer a savior for covering for the magazine, and I haven’t heard a peep from my celebrity crush turned bestie.
I can't stop thinking about texting Asher Montgomery. I stare at our conversation all the time. I replay the day to the littlest detail, mulling over every interaction.
I already told myself I can't have you.
I'm pathetic.
Worse are the times stupid things happen and I want to laugh about it with him. Like when the guy at the hot dog stand accidentally splattered ketchup all over his suit and tried to lick it off when he thought no one was looking.
Asher would probably say something completely clever or tell a personal story that would leave me laughing until I snort, which happened on at least three separate occasions while we were playing Nintendo 64.
But I’m lame.
Whenever I get close to texting him I talk myself out of it.
If he wanted to talk to me he would reach out.
Life moves on, and so do I.
Yeah right.
By week two call me a liar. I haven’t moved on at all. The opposite in fact. I’m still living in my fake world where Asher Montgomery and I are best friends. I imagine that after I landed back home there was a text waiting for me. We picked up right where we left off in his suite and now he calls me everyday just to hear my voice. We swap stories on what happens in our daily lives and laugh for hours. Oh and we’re counting down the days until we’ll see each other again. At least that’s the dream playing in my mind, on repeat.
Dream (n): an idea or vision that is created in your imagination that is not real.
It’s the last part of that which gets to me.
Not real.
The following weekend I go on a small shopping spree. Shopping usually makes most girls forget about their troubles, right?
I wish I was most girls.
All I'm reminded of is how much I hate shopping.
I had a feeling about you.
I literally cannot stop replaying his words.
My feet hurt in every new pair of shoes I try on, and after two stores I end up scratching the whole idea. I can never decide on anything anyway. It's too stressful.
Just as I'm about to leave I pass a home store. I pop in for some new towel holders. It's a spur of the moment decision. I'm gonna change things up in the bathroom because I'm not afraid of that sort of thing anymore. I’m going with hooks, a big difference over the rod that’s currently in there. Plus I need something to do to busy my mind away from him.
The hooks remind me of that Seinfeld episode in which Marla proposes she put them in Jerry’s closet.
Ugh Seinfeld... Asher.
Jerry’s response is something along the lines of, ‘you’re quite mad you know.’ And well, I am. I’m certifiably insane. Especially after I debate which finish to get for over an hour.
I finally head to the check out line only to find Asher’s face on a magazine eye-level with mine. It’s the first time I’ve seen a picture of him since that day. I still can’t believe I know this person. I won't ever get over how he's not who I thought he was.