Total pages in book: 112
Estimated words: 105709 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 529(@200wpm)___ 423(@250wpm)___ 352(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 105709 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 529(@200wpm)___ 423(@250wpm)___ 352(@300wpm)
“Hey,” I say, shouldering through the kitchen's swinging doors.
“What're we doing tonight?” Phoebe's voice cuts through before I settle the phone against my ear.
I exhale.
“What do you mean? I just want to sit at home and relax with a bottle of Sauv. I don't want to be shoved around in your rock star drama.”
“Oh? It's like that now, is it?” she asks, mocking her hurt. “No, seriously, I need to do something. I just need to escape for a bit.” She just said “escape” like Dory did in Finding Nemo.
“You're right. You do need to get out,” I mutter dryly.
“Yes. I think you do, too. When was the last time you had alcohol?”
I don’t hesitate. “Three months.”
“Leave the boy toy at home and lets go out!”
I smile, clutching my phone. I guess I could do that. Allow myself this one time since all I’ve done is throw myself into work. “Fine.”
Phoebe’s breath speeds up, as if she’s jogging. “I can't believe you're seeing Chase.”
I trace patterns in the scattered flour. “I wouldn't call it seeing. We're just messing around.”
“Every night.”
“Okay, so about tonight?” I change the subject before Phoebe sinks her claws into the topic, or worse, asks about Richard, who makes it his job to ask me out every chance he gets.
She rambles about what we’re going to wear and the latest gossip that’s being spilled in the magazines, before we both hang up and I finish up for the day.
Chase is good in bed. Good means distraction. Good means not great. Good means comfortable.
“You heading out tonight?” he asks as I roll off his six-pack. He watches me from beneath brown hair that falls over his forehead as I move around my bedroom to get ready.
I grin, reaching for my discarded bra. “Yeah. Phoebe’s in town so she wants us to go—decompress!”
He flashes me a boyish smile. “What, am I not enough for you?”
I jab my finger into his chest. “You are, but you also need to leave. I have to get ready.”
“What? You kicking me out?” His hand lands on his chest in mock offence.
“Yes. Get out.” I point towards the door behind a laugh.
He rolls out of bed, tugging on his jeans. “Fine.” He slips a shirt over his head, leaving his jeans unfastened at the waist, and hooks his arm behind my back. “Text me when you're horny.”
“Always do,” I answer in a singsong voice, and then he's gone and I'm left in my apartment alone.
I let the silence settle until I hear every breath, and the door at my back feels like concrete. Silence.
Pushing off the wall, I quickly make a move for the shower and scrub up in double time. If I haven’t had alcohol in three months, I should probably prep my liver.
Espresso Martinis.
Grinning, I fiddle with my machine until the grunt of grinding coffee beans fills the hideous silence. I’d barely tossed ice in my shaker when there’s a loud knock on the door.
Fucking Chase. That didn't take long.
I swing open the door but stop in my tracks when a familiar face stares back at me… and not the kind I sit on.
“Holy shit,” I whisper, clutching the door handle. “What're you doing here? I mean, it's been, God, how long has it been?”
My sister cocks her head sideways, just like she did when we were kids. The hallway light catches in her honey-blonde hair, dancing through each wave down to the small of her back. Those eyes freeze me where I stand. Blue that darkens at the edges, but there's something new in them. Something moves beneath the surface now, exhausted and weighted.
Her skin is still flawless; that flush in her cheeks isn't makeup. It's real, raw. Her lips—the full kind women pay surgeons for—tighten slightly as she studies me. It's always been this way with Millie. People just stop and stare, like they've encountered something too perfect to be touched. A masterpiece somehow walking among us ordinary.
“Are you going to invite me in?” she asks. After five, almost six years apart, I'm seeing double. The sister I knew and this new version, layered over each other, both standing before me, familiar yet strange.
I step out of the way and gesture inside. “I almost didn't recognize you without your nun outfit on.”
She carefully lowers onto the sofa, her fingers twisting together in her lap. “Melissa, enough of the nun jokes, and it's called a habit.”
I scoff, pulling open my refrigerator door with more force than necessary. Cool air hits my face as I survey the contents. Leftover takeout containers, a wilted salad, and my faithful companion on the top shelf.
“Want a drink of anything? Water? Coffee? Vodka?” The last option rolls off my tongue with ease, though I'm only half-joking. “I’m shaking up an espresso martini anyway?”
Without waiting for her answer, I reach for the bottle, its familiar weight comforting in my hands.