Total pages in book: 25
Estimated words: 23304 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 117(@200wpm)___ 93(@250wpm)___ 78(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 23304 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 117(@200wpm)___ 93(@250wpm)___ 78(@300wpm)
“I guess that makes sense.”
“I’m glad you could come out tonight even if it was just a bit. Maybe you and I can hang out, just the two, in a less rowdy location.”
A faint smile touched Paris’s lips. Carol was a nice lady. Under different circumstances they probably could have been great friends instead of acquaintances on very good terms. Paris blamed herself. It was hard opening up to people when she’d learned long ago the only person she could count on was herself. Everyone she’d ever cared about—she’d lost.
“Sounds good,” she answered although she knew she’d find an excuse to back out later. “I’m off now. I think I’ve had enough of being a killjoy for one night, but thanks again. I’ll see you at work tomorrow.”
Carol frowned. “Okay, hon. If that’s what you want, but you’ll be missed.”
Paris lifted a brow. “I seriously doubt that, but it’s nice of you to say so.”
“Be safe.” Carol gave her a hug before going to join the rowdy group on the other side of the bar.
Paris sighed, throwing a twenty-dollar bill on the bar and grabbing her purse.
The subway ride home for once was peaceful. It was after rush hours, and she was able to get a seat for the duration of the ride. It was a cool summer night, and the three blocks Paris walked from the subway station to her upper Manhattan apartment was pleasant. Once inside, she happily kicked off her high heels.
Her tiny efficiency was only four hundred and fifty square feet, but in this neighborhood, it cost the earth. Still, it had a great view of the city, and it was her very own corner of the world. It was the first place she’d had all to herself. Nearly every inch of space was covered with furniture and knickknacks, making the place seem smaller, but she loved it.
Paris grabbed a bag of cheese curls and flipped on the television before flopping down on her daybed. The documentary about the discovery of new planets was in its final minutes. She cursed herself for forgetting to record it. Lately, she’d been fascinated with all things space and she didn’t have the faintest clue why. It made sense to her that mankind wasn’t the only intelligent lifeforms out there. It was an arrogant assumption that Earth was the only planet in the entire universe with functioning societies.
When she was younger, she dreamed of being an astronaut and exploring the deep recesses of space but without the encouragement of a loving family, she’d given up on that idea and had gone the practical route. Space travel hadn’t crossed her mind again until she’s stumbled on this program.
Once her show was over, she trudged to the bathroom to begin her nightly ritual of brushing her teeth and showering.
Totally boring.
When had her life become so lame? “Paris,” she spoke to her reflection in the mirror. “What you need in your life is a little excitement.” She studied her image. Large, slightly tilted dark brown eyes stared back at her in a medium brown face. Paris tucked a strand of her shoulder length black hair behind her ear. She’d recently gotten a silk press to change things up, but she preferred her natural curls.
Her lips were large and bow shaped, and nose tip-tilted and slightly wide. She hit the gym three times a week to maintain her hourglass figure. If there was one thing, she could change about herself it would be her height.
Five-foot-four wasn’t tiny, but the short jokes she received most of her life were something she could do without. Overall, Paris supposed she was an attractive woman, but in her opinion not so much as to receive all the attention she did at the bar tonight.
What was it with men? Did some kind of sensor go off in their heads when they knew a woman wasn’t interested? Why did they assume a woman couldn’t get by without them in their lives? It wasn’t that she disliked men. That wasn’t the case at all, but she’d yet to find one who excited her enough to take a chance on.
The ones she had dated fell into four categories: mama’s boys, conceited jerks, or men who only wanted to get in her pants. And her least favorite kind —the men who wanted know what you were bringing to the table, when they couldn’t afford a table. They were the type of men who expected a woman to be perfect in every way. Beautiful, accomplished, financially independent and intelligent. Meanwhile, they had three baby mamas, bad credit and questionable hygiene.
What the hell?
Paris had her fair share of that last type of guy.
It wasn’t that she didn’t believe in love. At one point in her life, she’d desperately craved it. But time and time again, she’d faced one let down after another. She’d been cheated on, lied to and disappointed in general. Dating for her was just one let down after another for her.