Total pages in book: 169
Estimated words: 162138 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 811(@200wpm)___ 649(@250wpm)___ 540(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 162138 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 811(@200wpm)___ 649(@250wpm)___ 540(@300wpm)
We end up in a VIP section with our own couches, table, and bottle of champagne. Prescott’s doing, of course. I don’t argue because I’m away from the people on the sticky floor. I take a seat and wiggle my feet a little to see if it helps with the pain the heels are causing. They were a high school graduation gift from my mom. It was a nice gesture. I just don’t understand why people pay so much money for uncomfortable shit just because of the label, or in this case, the soles. I take the champagne flute that Prescott hands me. He hovers over us — Wade and Marissa are also sitting down — and gives us a speech that looks very warm based on his expressions. Too bad we can’t hear a lick of it. We pretend though, for his sake, and say cheers loudly before we start drinking more alcohol.
It’s nice that Prescott is here. He’s constantly traveling between Fairview, Rhodes, and New York — Fairview to see his family, Rhodes to see us, and New York, since that’s where he works and the place he primarily calls home, even though he does own a condo here as well. Instead of just going into his family’s law firm right off the bat, he did an apprenticeship in New York and was hired by the company. They have clients everywhere so he’s always traveling. He’s been talking about opening up a firm here and making this his permanent home, but I don’t know if he will.
He says dating in New York sucks. He doesn’t want to date in Fairview and the dating pool here is huge, so I guess it’s a possibility. He and Marissa have been hooking up sporadically for a while now, but that’s all they do. Mar says she wishes she liked him for more than just sex, but can’t see herself with him forever. Pres says the same about Marissa, and since it’s been long enough that they would have made a move by now, they must really mean it. That, and they tell each other about the dates they go on and laugh about it.
“We weren’t supposed to mix,” I tell Pres when he takes a seat next to me. “Now we’re going to feel like double shit tomorrow.”
“Ah, you only live once.” He shrugs and drinks the rest of his champagne in one go.
I shrug and do the same. Marissa follows and Wade has no choice but to do it. In the back of my mind, all I can think is we’re so fucked. Later, though I’m not sure how much later since time is non-existent in the club, I get up and dance with Marissa. We’re still in the VIP section, but there are groups of people also dancing here, which makes me wonder what the point of paying for the area is. The couches? After five, six, or seven songs, the champagne is done and so are we.
Outside, Marissa leans against the wall to take off her shoes and tells me to do the same.
I laugh, throwing my head back. “No way. That’s disgusting.”
“Your feet are killing you and you know it,” she says, slurring. “Take them off or have Wade or Pres give you a piggyback so you don’t get too many blisters.”
“Absolutely-fucking-not.” I shoot them both murderous glances. “Don’t you dare.”
Wade doesn’t listen, but instead of crouching so I can get on his back, he lifts me in his arms like a bride and starts walking. I cross my arms and keep glaring, which makes him laugh hysterically. I laugh with him because I can’t help it. Prescott comes over and snaps pictures of us.
“Don’t post those!” I point at him.
“Give me some credit,” Prescott says, “I made a close friends account and only have ten people in it. No one with Fairview connections.”
“Ah, whatever. I’m over it.” I wave a hand around, as Pres points the phone to the ground and concentrates on whatever he’s doing. “You smell really good, Wade. I mean, you smell like an ashtray, but underneath that, your cologne is nice.”
He laughs again. “You’re funny when you’re drunk, Delilah.”
De-li-luh. Sometimes I forget my full name — Delilah D. Guzman is how I sign it. I tacked on my mother’s maiden name, but with my first name also changing, I knew no one would find me. On all the documents, my name is Delilah Duke Guzman. Marissa and Pres tried to talk me out of that, but I wouldn’t budge. Fucking sue me for wanting to keep a piece of the only thing that has ever made me feel alive. I don’t know why I did it, since the cut just keeps deepening each time I see it on a document. I guess I did it for the same reason I printed out the two pictures I have of us and placed them by my computer. I’m an emotional masochist. It’s kind of funny when I think about it. I don’t feel emotions all the time, and the one I feel constantly is pain. My therapist is so sick of my bullshit, she just shakes her head and sighs when I say things like that.