Total pages in book: 97
Estimated words: 93785 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 469(@200wpm)___ 375(@250wpm)___ 313(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 93785 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 469(@200wpm)___ 375(@250wpm)___ 313(@300wpm)
Despite it being off brand to suggest that Justin hear his man out, it would also be very un-me not to be honest. Honesty is always the best policy.
“I usually am on the side of fuck around and find out,” I say, shifting in my seat. “But maybe let’s … I don’t know, feel around and find out this time.”
“What do you mean?”
“Do you love this guy?” I ask.
“Yes.”
“Does he love you?”
“Yes.” He sucks in a breath. “I’ve never doubted it. He’s great with me, he’s amazing to my mom, and he loves my cats even though he’s allergic.”
I smile softly as his voice starts to break.
“I’m scared, Gianna, and I don’t know if I’m strong enough to know what’s real and what’s not if I talk to him again.”
“Just hear him out,” I say, and Francine’s eyes go wide. Yeah, I’m surprised, too. “I know that’s a very un-Gianna-like thing to say. But maybe there are a few guys out there who aren’t complete turds.”
My attention shifts from the computer screen to the window overlooking the hallway … and the very sexy man standing at it, watching me. Our gazes connect, and it’s like a wash of happiness hits me in the face.
Drake smiles, the corner of his mouth tipping toward the ceiling. I return his grin and wish I were done with this show so we could get gelato and prepare for the fantasy football draft he talked me into joining. I have so much to learn.
“What if he lies to me?” Justin asks. “And I believe him?”
“And what if he tells you the truth and you don’t? Or, even worse, what if you don’t ask and are needlessly miserable forever?”
Drake’s smile widens, and I roll my eyes at him. I can’t hear him, but I know he’s laughing.
“Thanks, Gianna,” Justin says. “You’re right. I’ll give him a call.”
“You’re very welcome. Good luck, Justin. Thanks for calling.”
My phone buzzes beside me, and I glance at it as a ten-second advertisement plays.
Drake: Look at you, you little dream maker.
I look up at him and giggle before typing out a quick reply.
Me: I’ll show you a dream maker tonight.
Drake: Promise?
Me:
Scott from IT approaches him just as the advertisement ends. They move down the hall, looking at Scott’s phone, as Francine gives me the go-ahead.
I clear my throat, not wanting to address my relationship with Drake but having no choice. Francine doesn’t understand why I feel so strongly about making a statement. Drake posted on his Social account about the rumors, but I can’t do that because I’m not opening my app. I’m not into reading that I’m not good enough for Drake, and that I’m overweight, ugly, and a terrible podcaster. Things have gotten nasty online, and I’m not sure why.
But as much as I don’t want to say anything, I feel like I must. I don’t like the trolls thinking that I’m hiding from them. And if I keep quiet, they’ll say that it validates the rumors, and another contingent will wind up trashing Drake.
This was supposed to be fun and entertaining. Why did people have to ruin it?
“Welcome back,” I say, ignoring the tightness in my stomach. “Drake and I updated you on our Monday live that things between us are going great. As a quick recap, we’ve been spending a lot of time together, and it’s so different from anything that I’ve experienced before. He’s a really great guy, and I’m not used to spending time with that kind of man.” I lean closer to the mic. “And if I’ve dated you before, yes, that was a candid shot at you.”
Francine shakes her head. Another lecture about liability is for sure on the horizon.
“But I also want to say that I saw the headlines this morning,” I admit. “They’re … predictable. Uninspired. Work a little harder tomorrow and, for the love of God, pair me up with someone for once. Why is it always the guy with a hot model behind the girl’s back? Pair me up with a single, hot football player with a juicy storyline. If you need help coming up with something, email me.”
Francine laughs as the outro music begins to play.
“And that’s it for this week’s episode of Gianna Knows Things,” I say. “Tune in next week for more hot takes and cold truths. Bye, everyone.”
My mic is cut, and I sit back, breathing a sigh of relief.
Things like this would usually get my blood pressure soaring, and I’d call Astrid and vent for an hour. Instead, it’s amusing to me that people care. Mostly because I don’t.
Sure, I don’t like reading the comments, and I can’t fathom why people think it’s necessary to be so mean. And it does bother me enough that I wanted to say something. But I wanted to speak out more than anything because my relationship with Drake isn’t a joke that should be used as hurtful fodder for the world.