Total pages in book: 102
Estimated words: 95173 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 476(@200wpm)___ 381(@250wpm)___ 317(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 95173 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 476(@200wpm)___ 381(@250wpm)___ 317(@300wpm)
The waiter comes out with three plates. “The chef sent this out for you to snack on.” He puts down a plate of calamari, meatballs, and rice balls. He then takes our order, and I grab a meatball and put it on the plate in front of me.
“That was a great game tonight,” I tell him, and he smiles at me while he picks up a piece of calamari and dips it in the sauce and puts it in his mouth. His tongue darts out, licking the sauce from the corner of his mouth. I want to lean over the table and pounce on him like a cat in heat.
“What part was your favorite?” he asks me, and I’m in a daze of him throwing me on the table and having me as his meal. “Vivienne,” he says, and I snap out of my head.
“Yeah?” I say, confused.
“What part was your favorite?” he asks me again.
“Um, the part where you guys won,” I say to him, and he laughs. “I mean, I was drinking and eating, but I heard the crowd really, really into it.” I smile at him while I pop a piece of my meatball in my mouth. “So I’m assuming by the gasps of the crowd and the fact you guys had zero goals scored on you that it was a great game.”
He laughs now, then takes a sip of water. “I guess I can live with that,” he says, and the waiter comes back out with two plates of different salads courtesy of the chef.
“I don’t know how I’m going to eat my plate at this rate,” I tell him, grabbing some arugula salad and adding it to my plate.
“You can always box it up,” he tells me. “So how have you been?” he asks, grabbing a meatball.
“Well, since yesterday when we texted, I’m still okay,” I tell him. “Oh, and not that you care anymore, but Elsa is doing well.” He laughs. “Why are you laughing?” I ask almost angrily. “You haven’t asked for her once. Not one time. You don’t even know if I’m feeding her.”
“Oh, I know you’re feeding her,” he says, not looking at me, and I grab my glass of white wine and finish it off. “You won’t let Elsa starve.”
I watch him and get a little bit irritated that he isn’t taking this seriously. “How do you know? I don’t know the first thing about raising a fish,” I tell him and take a sip of my wine and then another. “How do you know she doesn’t wonder where you are?”
He puts down his fork and leans back in the chair, and it’s the worst thing right now because him leaning back makes his shirt pull across his chest that is sculpted like the fucking David or whatever is better than the David. I want to lick him like a lollipop. “Are we still talking about the fish here?”
I tilt my head to the side. “What else could we be talking about?”
“Well, is that your way of asking me if I’m dating anyone?” he asks, and I want to slap my hand on the table and say yes, yes it is, and are you?
But instead, I throw my head back and laugh a forceful laugh. “Are you crazy? Why would I care?” I ask, the words tasting like acid coming up. “I mean, I’m sure you’re not over there thinking about me dating, right?” He doesn’t answer, but I see a tic in his forehead. Maybe it does bother him to think about me dating. I’m not going to tell him that he’s ruined my vagina or that when I went to the doctor, I asked him if my vagina could, in fact, be ruined from ever orgasming again. I don’t tell him that the look on the doctor’s face was utter disbelief or that the nurse whispered, “Oh my.”
“Are you busy next Saturday?” he asks me.
“Are you asking me out on a date?” I ask, surprised.
“No.” He shakes his head. “I have this gala with the SPCA, and I was wondering if you wanted to join me.” His eyes never leave mine. “It’s for a good cause.”
“What type of event is this?” I ask him, knowing full well I’ll go with him.
“Black tie,” he says. “The richest of the rich.” He laughs. “Just your average Saturday night soiree.”
“I’ll have to check my calendar when I get home,” I tell him, and he just nods. Before he can even say another word, the waiter comes out with our meals. We dance around the subject of next Saturday, and when it’s time to leave, I’ve finished a bottle of wine all by myself, and my laughter is coming out more. I get up, and well, I sit back down just as fast. He watches me when he rolls down his sleeves. “Okay, let’s try that again,” I say and get up, but now he’s standing beside me. His hand comes out to hold my waist and pulls me toward him. I look up at him, and he’s honestly the most beautiful man I’ve ever met. And I know that some men would cringe at being called beautiful, but that’s what he is. “Thank you,” I say, pushing out my chest a little like the hussy I am.