Total pages in book: 119
Estimated words: 116028 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 580(@200wpm)___ 464(@250wpm)___ 387(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 116028 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 580(@200wpm)___ 464(@250wpm)___ 387(@300wpm)
Now we’re body shaming each other on social media and blaming the mistress if our man cheats.
I don’t consider myself a radical feminist. I don’t believe men are evil demons from hell and should be purged from society—I think men have lots of good things to offer the world. Their dicks are fabulous, for one.
It would just be really nice if we could show some female solidarity like we used to.
But I know what’s stopping us: jealousy. We’re too frigging envious of each other, and envy is such a crippling feeling. It causes us to say things and behave in ways that we’re secretly ashamed of, or at least I am. I regret nearly all the things I’ve said and done out of jealousy. I’ve also been on the receiving end of it from other girls. Some of them resented me for my looks. Others assumed I was going to be a bitch to them because of said looks, so they attacked first.
In spite of that, I’ve always tried to keep a smile on my face and be nice to everyone, even the haters. Ironically, a lot of the haters in high school ended up good friends of mine once they stopped linking me to their own insecurities.
So yes, I’m pro girl power. Ladies doing it for themselves. I am woman, hear me roar.
Yet I hate this girl Nora with the heat of a thousand suns.
She was talking to Fitz before class. Now she’s sitting with two other chicks, talking about Fitz. I know her name is Nora because one of her friends called her that, and since I’m only two rows behind them, every word she utters floats toward me, clear as a bell.
“…just so cool. And wicked smart. And he’s so talented. You should see his paintings.”
“Doesn’t hurt that he’s hot as fuck,” her friend teases her.
“Those tats,” the other friend sighs.
I guess they’ve all seen Fitz’s tats somehow? I now loathe the friends too.
“So hot,” Nora says, pretending to fan herself.
And I’m so ready to accidentally throw something at her, because she’s so annoying with her overuse and overemphasis of the word so.
“We’re having drinks tomorrow night.”
The flames of hatred in my stomach are doused with an icy bucket of reality.
He asked her out?
“Holy crap, this date is finally happening?” One of the friends claps with delight.
“Yes! I’m so excited.”
Okay. So Fitz invited her on a date. She’s pretty, has a great sense of style. Why shouldn’t he go out with her?
And why should it bother me if he does?
Because…
Because, well, because she’s obviously a bitch. I don’t want Fitz going out with a bitch.
She’s not a bitch. That’s your jealousy talking.
No, I stubbornly argue with myself. She absolutely gave me a couple of dirty looks before she joined her friends. I didn’t imagine that. So there’s some bitch in her, at least.
And there’s a lot of bitch in you right now.
“Fuck off,” I order myself.
A few seats down in my row, a guy with longish black hair shifts his head in my direction. He arches a bushy eyebrow at me.
I raise my hand in a friendly wave. “Just ignore me. I’ve decided I’m going to be the crazy lady who talks to herself in class.”
He laughs. “Noted.”
Nora turns at the sound of my voice, narrows her eyes, and then turns back.
I hate her.
You’re being insane.
“Did we not just determine that I’ve chosen a path of insanity?” I say out loud, though mostly it’s to mess with my row-mate.
Bushy Eyebrows glances over again. “Oh wow. You weren’t kidding.”
I grin. “I’m done now. I promise.”
In front of me, Nora’s friends are grilling her for more details about her impending date.
“Just drinks?”
“Just drinks,” she confirms. “Do you honestly think I’d ever agree to a first-date dinner after Eight-Course Ethan?”
The girls break out in laughter. “Oh my God! I forgot about him!”
I tune them out as they reminisce about the time Nora got stuck on an expensive, four-hour dinner date when she was ready to bail before the first course. It’s an entertaining story, but I’m too busy trying to combat my unwanted jealousy.
Fitz can date whomever he wants. Besides, I have no right to be jealous. I cuddled with Hunter the other night. Granted, we didn’t do anything but spoon, but it felt nice lying there with a warm male body pressed up against me. And if Hunter had made a move, I can’t say with absolute certainty that I wouldn’t have reciprocated.
The doors at the base of the lecture hall swing open, interrupting my thoughts. The man who enters the room needs no introduction, yet he still approaches the podium and greets us as if none of us have ever picked up a fashion magazine.
“Good morning! I’m Erik Laurie and I’m sorry to inform you that you will be enduring my unbearable presence for the next four months.”