Total pages in book: 27
Estimated words: 25780 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 129(@200wpm)___ 103(@250wpm)___ 86(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 25780 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 129(@200wpm)___ 103(@250wpm)___ 86(@300wpm)
Yeah, why’s that?
He replies almost instantly.
My roommate just said I have a sugar daddy because of you and your little surprise.
Sarah pulls out a blouse on a hanger and holds it up to herself. “Do you like this?” she asks. I shrug. “Because we’re basically the same size…”
“Take it,” I tell her.
“Hell, yeah, dude. I need to get me a rockstar boyfriend.” My phone buzzes again.
Okay, no sugardaddying. This was just a selection for tonight’s date.
I don’t know if that makes it any better or if he’s just pissing me off even more.
What even are we doing tonight?
I text back.
You’ll see =) I’ll send a car for you
“Christ,” I growl, low enough that Sarah can’t hear it. The last thing I want her to know is that I’m having reservations about saying yes to Cal’s invitation.
I glance back at her and see she’s checking the sizing on an off-white skirt with too many frills for my taste. “Hey, do you like this–?”
“No, take it.”
5
Reese
I’m tapping my finger on the armrest of my usual chair in the living room, waiting for the car that’s supposed to be picking me up for my date with Cal tonight. I’ve been sitting here since six, and it’s seven now. I haven’t heard from Cal, and I’ve sent him three texts. After that, I stopped sending any more to preserve what’s left of my own dignity.
I even thought about just straight-up canceling on him, but I decided that would be the wrong move, as I would get no end of shit from Sarah if I did. So here I am, waiting in my designer jeans and blouse, with my red-bottom heels and my fancy belt, feeling like a total idiot who’s about to get stood up.
How can it be that designer jeans that supposedly cost more than our monthly rent come with holes in them? That just doesn’t make sense to me. Maybe I should open up my own jean company and just buy jeans from Walmart, rip them up and put my own labels on them, and charge rich people thousands of dollars.
“Still no sign of him?” Sarah asks, coming out of her bedroom.
“Nope,” I reply, shaking my head. “He probably found himself a hotter girl to hang out with tonight.”
Sarah shrugs. “Hey, if he stands you up, you still got all these free clothes out of him. You could sell them and make a shit ton of money.”
“Hey, there’s always that.”
Now I’m really starting to feel like a loser. The second date of my life, and it’s already shaping up to be another failure.
I get up from my chair and go to the fridge to get a seltzer. Yet again, Sarah has drunk all the Mandarin orange, leaving me with just the cranberry, but whatever. I pop one open and take a sip and gaze out the window into the night.
Maybe it’s better if he doesn’t show up. Then I’ll know for sure that he’s an asshole, and I won’t have to prove anything to anybody.
I take the can back to my seat, but when I look back down at my phone, I see I have a new text message from an unknown number.
Your car has arrived and is waiting downstairs.
I get a nervous twinge in my chest but do my best to ignore it as I stand up and immediately walk to the door.
“Time to go,” I say to Sarah as I grab my keys. I turn and glance at her on my way out and give her the best smug, hot-bitch face I can muster. “And hey, don’t wait up.”
“Oh sure, bitch!” I hear her shout, laughing after me as I tug the door closed behind me and make my way down the stairs.
Outside, there’s one of the nicest cars I’ve ever seen in my life waiting for me. I don’t even have a clue what it is or who makes it. All I know is that it’s black and looks like something a billionaire CEO would ride in.
I take four steps away from my building, and the back door opens automatically for me, causing me to stop dead in my tracks. The driver’s side window rolls down, and a man smiles at me. “Hop in,” he says. “I’ll take you to the venue.”
“Venue?” I ask.
“Where Cal’s performing,” he replies, with a duh tone to his voice. “Didn’t he tell you?”
Ah, so that’s his idea of a date, I realize with a sigh. Going to watch him perform.
“No,” I reply. “He didn’t.”
I almost don’t even want to get in the car at all. I almost just want to go back upstairs, get in bed, and watch Netflix and eat Cheetos for the rest of the night.
Go and watch him perform? Turn me into another screaming fangirl? Yeah, what a fantastic idea for a date.