Total pages in book: 118
Estimated words: 114368 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 572(@200wpm)___ 457(@250wpm)___ 381(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 114368 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 572(@200wpm)___ 457(@250wpm)___ 381(@300wpm)
“I’m sorry, Star,” he whispered, his eyes flooding with tears.
What a jerk! What kind of person started crying when he was the one who got caught in the act of being unfaithful? On my birthday of all days! I would’ve done what she did to him later on and probably done it better! As I said, I was a perfectionist.
“How could you?” I cried, feeling ridiculous that he was getting to witness my breakdown. “It’s my birthday, and you were going to propose to me!”
His eyes narrowed. “You knew I was going to propose to you tonight?”
“Of course.” I held my freshly painted red nails in the air. “I did my nails!”
He scratched at the back of his head. “I was still going to propose to you tonight. On paper, you and I are a great match, Starlet. My parents like you. They think you’re good for me, unlike Meredith. She’s wild and fun while you’re…you.”
“What’s that supposed to mean?” I asked, offended by his tone. He sounded as if he was mocking me.
“You know. A bit boring and predictable. In a good way, of course!” he remarked. “I like that I always know how you’re going to act. You never step out of your box. That’s very good. You’re like Cheerios—slightly basic but good for the heart. Meredith is like a sugary cereal that leads to diabetes or something. I mean, it’s good—it’s so good—but like…bad for you. But you’re Cheerios. I like Cheerios. My parents like them more, but I think I’d be a bigger fan with age. I’d probably like you so much in our thirties.”
Was he comparing women to cereal right now? My best friend, Whitney, would have a field day with that one.
The tears kept falling, and my heart kept breaking. I wished I could’ve shut off my emotions. John didn’t deserve them, yet they were on public display for him to witness. I bet his cocky ego loved to see how he was affecting me. Whitney once told me that certain low-quality men got off on seeing how they’d hurt a woman’s feelings. I didn’t think that would ever be John, but I had no real idea of who he had been at the end of the day.
“Who’s Meredith?” I asked.
“Oh, that’s the girl who was giving me…” His words faded off. He shrugged. “If it makes you feel better, I’d never date Meredith. She’s sort of a slut and gets around.”
My jaw dropped as I began to bat him with my purse repeatedly. I didn’t know if I was hitting him for Meredith or myself. Either way, I was going to pound-town on his arm.
“You’re scum!” I screamed, feeling disgusted by his words. The elevator doors opened as I cried and beat him with my purse. “You’re scum, John, scum! And I never want to see you again!” I shouted. As I turned away from him, a group of people stood in the lobby staring at me during my breakdown.
Public mortification.
Great.
Just great.
Happy birthday to me.
I was still going to propose to you tonight.
John said that as if it were a compliment, and I should’ve been thrilled by the concept of it.
If I had a time machine, I would’ve warned past Starlet about the risk of walking into her boyfriend’s dorm room when he didn’t know she was coming over.
Catching John cheating on my birthday wasn’t one of my resolutions for the new year. I knew he was a lousy gift giver, but this had to be the worst present ever.
You knew you were down bad when “Angel” by Sarah McLachlan was repeatedly blasting through your dorm room, and you had Bridget Jones’s Diary on standby to watch, followed by He’s Just Not That Into You.
He’s just not that into me!
There I was in my room, emotionally spent and not engaged. I was single as a Pringle in the bottom of the can.
Alone.
Lonely.
Pathetic.
Happy birthday, Starlet Evans.
If swimming in one’s feelings was an Olympic sport, call me Michael Phelps.
“Oh my goodness. Where is the sad, starving puppy asking for a money donation?” Whitney asked as she walked into our room.
There I was, in all my glory, sitting on my bed with mascara rolling down my cheeks in complete distress. Since I used it as a handkerchief, my white dress was smeared with my makeup.
“It’s me,” I sobbed. “I’m the sad, starving puppy needing your donations.”
She quickly shot over to me and wrapped me in her embrace, stepping firmly into her best friend role. “Nope, nope, nope. I refuse for this to be a thing. You can’t be sad on your birthday. That goes against all the rules of life. What happened?”
“John was getting a blowie from another girl when I went to his dorm room!”
She narrowed her eyes. “Seriously?”
“Yes. Why would I lie about that?”
“No, of course, you wouldn’t. I’m just a bit shocked, seeing how he’s John.”