Total pages in book: 69
Estimated words: 65913 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 330(@200wpm)___ 264(@250wpm)___ 220(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 65913 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 330(@200wpm)___ 264(@250wpm)___ 220(@300wpm)
My heart swells like a balloon, then pops. All the air leaks out, and my chest aches. My throat hurts. I turn to Hazel and whisper past the stranglehold this song has on me. “I need to go.”
Thirty minutes later, I’ve claimed a booth with Ellie and Hazel at a classic New York diner with cracked upholstery, orange Formica, and milkshakes and fries all around.
It’s the official menu of the sad. I sigh again, stirring the thick chocolatey goodness. “I just thought that we were about to become something. Milo seemed so . . .” I stop, search for the words as I meet their twin gazes.
“Real,” I say, nearly choking on the word. “I had all these fantasies about him, and then I met him, and he seemed so real.”
Hazel stretches out a hand and squeezes mine. “He sounds great.”
I appreciate that they’re not demonizing him, but . . .
“I feel pretty foolish even though he never fooled me. He was honest from the start. I just wanted more, but when I saw him struggling this afternoon, I wanted to give him an out.”
“Maybe someday he’ll see what’s in front of him. But for now, you’re going to keep on moving, right?” Ellie asks, lifting her silver shaker. “We can’t let men get the better of us.”
“I couldn’t agree more,” I say, raising a glass too.
Hazel lifts her shake. “Hear, hear.”
As we toast, I feel strong for the first time since this afternoon. I feel confident again. “I think I know exactly how I’ll keep on moving,” I whisper, excited once again for tomorrow as I share my plan.
The next morning, I head into Big Cup early for my meeting with Amelia.
I scan the shop, picking a table in advance since she’s not here yet, then head to the counter. Instantly, I grin when I see the blue-eyed, fresh-faced barista. “Anna! It’s been a while. How are you?”
The pretty blonde flashes a grin. “I can’t complain. How are you? I’ve been following your recent columns,” she says, then leans in close. “And getting some ideas myself.”
Anna’s a friend and one of my first readers. I even showed her one of my early columns for feedback. She fell in love with The Virgin Club from the start and has kept tabs on it since then.
“Then the column is doing its job,” I say. And fingers crossed that it might keep doing so in a very big way in, oh, say, five minutes.
“Your recommendations definitely keep me busy. From one woman with a dirty mind to another,” Anna adds.
There’s only one little issue. “Well, I’m going to have to turn in my card,” I admit, but today I don’t feel as sad about the Milo situation as I did last night.
Anna’s eyes widen. “Will we get the details?”
That’s a good question. I’ll figure out the answer soon enough.
“Maybe,” I say with a coy shrug. “But woman to woman, I’ll tell you this—it was worth the wait.”
Anna sighs happily.
Milo was worth the wait. I chose wisely. I have no regrets.
I place my coffee order, then ask what she’s been up to as she makes the drink.
“I was in Paris, visiting the shop there. I might need to go there full-time. Family obligations and all. But if you ever need a guest columnist, I have lots of ideas I’ve been wanting to explore,” she says.
“Thanks. I’ll let The Dating Pool know,” I say, then I take my coffee and head to a table.
A minute later, a gorgeous Amelia bursts in, all mad energy and little red dress. As she surveys the shop, I pop up.
She rushes over to me. “You! You, goddess, you! You are just the person I need for my show,” she continues. “But I need a cuppa first.” The British singer sails off to the counter and orders an Earl Grey.
When she returns, she sits down in a cloud of shampoo-model curls, cheekbones, and sex appeal. “Here’s the deal. I have a concert here in a month. And a new song called “Battery-Operated Friend” to debut. I want to include gift bags with every ticket—a hand-curated package of sex toys. And you’re just the one to pick them.”
I sit up straighter, enjoying stepping into the next big thing. “I am indeed just the one.”
30
Lady Trouble
Milo
* * *
I wiggle around on the uncomfortable earth as crickets chirp outside the tent.
“This sleeping bag sucks,” I grumble, jerking the nylon contraption closer to the edge of the tent, away from this stupid leaf under me. Or acorn. Or pit in the center of the earth that will swallow me whole.
From the other side of the tent, Drew clears his throat, then calls out softly, “Axel, you got that? Is that Milo’s fiftieth or fifty-first complaint about something today?”
Axel hums in the dark of the Hudson Valley on Sunday night after a long, exhausting day of riding through the hills. “Let’s see. Forty-nine was his bike pants were cutting off circulation to his brain. Fifty was the bike seat making his dick hurt. Yup. Sleeping bag makes fifty-one. Good job counting, Drew.”