Total pages in book: 102
Estimated words: 98485 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 492(@200wpm)___ 394(@250wpm)___ 328(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 98485 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 492(@200wpm)___ 394(@250wpm)___ 328(@300wpm)
I’m so busy paging through the rest of the yearbook that I don’t even hear the locksmith truck pull up. The next thing I know, my phone’s ringing.
“I’m here,” the guy barks when I answer.
“I’ll be right out.”
I feel free as I leave Alec’s place, silently promising myself I’m never going back there again. Even if it was the most fun I’ve ever had in a man’s bed before, no good can come of us going for a reprise. Our past aside, I clearly have horrible taste when it comes to men and he’s got heartbreak written all over his handsome face.
I skip down the stairs to find a short, grizzled old man in a skull cap at the door, already inspecting the broken lock. His pants are low on his hips, exposing the gray band of his Hanes underwear as well as an inch of his butt crack.
I show him the key, still on my keychain. “It just broke right off.”
He’s less than amused by my story, just lets out a humph and gets to work.
It’s got to be single-digits out, but with nowhere to go, I sit freezing on the front stoop of Alec’s place while the locksmith does his thing. I check the time, knowing that I’m supposed to start at Ted’s at two. By one, I’m getting a little nervous. As much as I’ve been airing out here in the cold, I still smell like Alec. I can feel him on me, which is not helping me in my quest to forget about him.
I desperately need a shower.
“How much longer do you think it’ll be?” I ask the man nicely as he stalks to his truck.
He grunts and throws open the door to his vehicle. “Got to go back to the shop to get a part.”
How does he not have all the parts in his truck?
I sigh as he drives away, then look at my fingers which are turning a pale shade of purple. Frostbite?
I prefer having to go to the ER—for obvious reasons. So with my proverbial tail between my legs, I go back inside Alec’s place and sit on the edge of the couch, trying to ignore the memories of last night that flash back every time I look around.
It even smells like us.
In my young naivety, I used to fantasize about kissing Alec. I used to dream of being in bed with him, skin against skin, and how amazing it would be. I wanted him to stare into my eyes like I was the only woman on Earth, whispering words of love.
Alec didn’t whisper words of love or stare at me like I was a precious jewel, but he still managed to blow every one of those fantasies out of the water. Easily.
I should’ve known he’d be good at sex. He’s good at everything he puts his mind to. Probably things he doesn’t put his mind to, too. I wonder if he even tried to make me feel good, or if it just happened, because he’s this miraculous creature who turns everything he touches to gold.
Then I wonder why I’m even thinking about it.
My phone buzzes, and I fumble excitedly for it, happy to have something to take my mind off Alec.
It’s a message from my brother.
Cooper: Guess who I ran into in downtown Portland today? Alec Mansfield. Remember him?
My stomach drops.
Of course that had to happen. Cooper asking whether I remember Alec shows just how clueless he was about his best friend’s tormenting of me. My brothers used to give guys hell whenever they showed any kind interest in me. But when it was Alec tearing my heart to shreds? They were fine with it. That or they had no idea.
Stassi: Vaguely.
Cooper: Here’s the crazy part. He told me he lives in the same complex as you.
Now I can’t help but wonder what else Alec shared. Did he tell him that he saw me? That we spoke? That we went out for drinks? That I wound up in bed with him? It’s impossible to know if Cooper’s bluffing and I’m not about to test him.
Then again, if Cooper knew anything, he wouldn’t simply be texting me.
He’d be here now, in my face, asking me what the hell I thought I was doing.
Meanwhile, Alec Mansfield would likely be nothing more than a human-shaped stain on a Portland sidewalk.
I gnaw on my lip, trying to think of a good response. Nothing comes.
Stassi: Oh. Small world, I guess.
I return outside when I spot the locksmith pulling up. Ten minutes later, I’m the proud recipient of a shiny new key that actually works.
“Perfect, thank you so much.” I wiggle the doorknob a little as he hands me the second set of keys. “You can send the bill to my landlord. His name is—”
“I need a credit card. We don’t send bills. Everything’s due at the time of service.” He points to his truck, where that exact line is clearly printed below the logo. Who the hell includes the fine print as part of their logo?