Total pages in book: 152
Estimated words: 145155 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 726(@200wpm)___ 581(@250wpm)___ 484(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 145155 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 726(@200wpm)___ 581(@250wpm)___ 484(@300wpm)
I giggle. “Though to be honest, I think I would have rather gone without. Now I know what I’m missing out on and, trust me girls, there is nowhere to go after Mr. Stanton. He’s the whole package.” I rub my forehead as I contemplate meeting a very mediocre version of man and how disheartening that day will be.
“So, did he say he would call you?”
“No, he told me we could just have one night together.”
“So, why are you waiting for him to call?” Abbie frowns.
I shrug. “Wishful thinking probably. I’m telling you he felt it too. He told me he adores me. Actually, no, he said he fucking adores me.”
I place my hand under my chin and blow out a deep breath as I swoon at the memory.
“Oh, I forgot, what did he say about the ink?”
“Um, this sounds weird but if you were me it wouldn’t.” I don’t know why but I feel embarrassed to elaborate. “He…he got it on my twenty-first birthday as a birthday present to me.”
“Fuck off,” Bridget snaps.
“I know, right,” I nod.
“He’s hot and sentimental,” Abbie sighs. “I think I’m in love with him myself.”
“Me too,” Bridget chimes in.
“Well, that makes three of us,” I groan as I lean my head back onto the lounge. “What the hell am I going to do?”
“What drives him mad?” Abbie chimes in. I shrug my shoulders. “You know, was there a point when he lost control?”
“He likes dirty talk,” I whisper, a little embarrassed.
Both their eyes light up. “What? What did you say?”
“I’m not going there.” I giggle. “But I dropped the C-bomb.”
“You’re kidding,” Bridget laughs. “You hate that word.”
“I know.” I rub my eyes as I remember how he loved it. “It amped him right up, actually. He totally lost control. He took me to the dark side…and I need to get on a fast train back.”
“Well, use your head, Tash, if he loses it over dirty talk.” Abbie’s phone texts a message, which she reads.
“You are kidding,” she snaps, “I’ve had enough.”
“What’s wrong?”
“James hooked up with that Tunnel Cunt and now he’s asking me not to come home tonight so he can make lots of noise. He can forget it.”
“Why do you hate this girl again?”
“Because she’s after his money.”
“How do you know that?”
“The brother of a girl at work hooked up with her a couple of years ago and apparently she gave him six months of terror after the event. She used to be a stripper in an upper-class strip club. It wouldn’t surprise me if she’s a high-end hooker or something now, and I just don’t trust her.”
“What does she look like again?” Bridget asks.
“Caramel blond, beautiful. A killer body, but I’m telling you the girl is evil. If she hurts him, I’m going to disembowel the bitch with a hairbrush.”
We all laugh. I knew if I spent a couple of hours with my friends I could forget about the dread that is creeping over me, the sick ball in my stomach that is telling me I’m just another notch on his bedpost, one that he went back to simply for old times’ sake.
Wednesday, 12:00 a.m.—I lie in bed on my back while the hot tears run into my ears. I have been lying here since 10:00 p.m. and still I can’t sleep. I haven’t eaten all day, and I have a thumping headache. My mind is constantly assessing the situation. Is he in someone else’s arms now? Does he have someone in his bed? Maybe he was already seeing someone when he promised me he wouldn’t be with anyone else. Of course, he’s with someone else, who am I kidding? My chest is physically hurting.
Thursday, 9.00 p.m.—I am heartbroken after crying on and off for most of the day yesterday. Reality, the bitch, has hit me hard. He’s not going to call. He obviously doesn’t feel the same. I totally imagined the chemistry we shared, no, actually I felt it. It was just him that felt nothing. I sit on the lounge in my gym gear after devouring a family block of chocolate. Honestly, why bother going to the gym? What’s the goddamn point? I feel sick to my stomach and it has nothing to do with the sugar coma I’m just about to slip into. I shower, put on my robe and pour myself a glass of wine. I head out to my balcony and sit on my daybed while I watch the city lights below me twinkle and listen to the hustle and bustle noises, a towel wrapped around my head. What should I do? I know the answer but how in the hell do I forget him? I wish last weekend never happened. It has just brought painful feelings to the surface again, ones that I’m not coping with.
I thought I was stronger than this. My life is a mess.