Total pages in book: 80
Estimated words: 79207 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 396(@200wpm)___ 317(@250wpm)___ 264(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 79207 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 396(@200wpm)___ 317(@250wpm)___ 264(@300wpm)
“No, no. Don’t need to do that. We … umm …” Of all the times to draw a blank …
“Done. It’s no problem at all. We had two people who RSVP’d yes only to turn around this week and tell us they can no longer make it. You and …”
She waits for me to tell her my imaginary boyfriend’s name, but I remain still with my mouth agape.
“You and your boyfriend can take their places. We’d love to have you. Everyone at home misses you. You never visit anymore.”
Yeah, there’s a reason for that. “Umm, okay.”
Wait, not okay …
Did I really just agree to go home next week for my ex-girlfriend’s wedding? With my boyfriend?
I reiterate what I thought the second I laid eyes on Chastity tonight: Fuck my life.
***
The staccato rhythm pounding in my brain has but one name. Tequila. That cold-hearted bitch.
My head rests on the table in front of me while my usual coffee shop bustles with my worst enemy: people. There are too many people for this time of morning and this type of hangover.
“Shhh,” I say into the table. No one listens.
“Wow,” Stacy says, startling me, and I lift my head. I didn’t hear her come in or sit in front of me, but there she is. With two cups of coffee. I officially love her. “How hungover are you?”
I rub my temples. “On a scale of one to ten? One hundred and twelve.”
She laughs, and her green eyes shimmer in amusement.
“Thanks for the sympathy.”
“It’s self-inflicted. Suck it up.”
“Why am I friends with you again?” I’m officially not loving her so much anymore.
“Because I refuse to sleep with you. Had I fallen victim to your charms when we met, you never would’ve seen me again.”
She has a point. I met Stacy at a frat party freshman year, and she shot me down for six months straight before I gave up trying. Probably a good thing she stood her ground. Stacy is the one constant person in my life. We got each other through college, and then we interned together at the same marketing firm where we work now.
“I found myself at a bachelorette party last night,” I say.
“If you tell me you slept with the bride, was hired as the stripper, or had a three-way with two of the depressed single girls freaking out over their friend getting married, I’m out of here.”
I take a large sip of my scalding hot coffee and swallow hard with a wince. “I have slept with the bride. But not since high school.”
“Oooh, shit. Your ex-girlfriend is getting married?”
I tell Stacy the events of last night and how I’m in yet another situation I don’t know how to get out of.
“Wait, wait, wait. Back this up. Your whole hometown thinks you’re gay? How did that happen?”
“I … I may’ve told Chastity I was gay to break up with her …”
She’s trying to hide her smile. I know she is. “I’m so glad I made the effort to come this morning.” Her glee is my misery. “Even your parents? How does that work, and how did I not know about this already?”
“I haven’t introduced you to my parents for a reason. And you know me—I never get serious with anyone. I keep telling my parents I’m single and haven’t met the right person yet, and I make sure to stay gender neutral in all conversations.”
Her smile finally fades. “You’ve been lying to everyone for five years. I thought you were sad before, but this … this is—”
“You don’t need to say it. I’m a shithead. Tell me something I don’t know. But last night, I’m at this bar and in walks my small-town girl in the big city, drunk off her ass. So, I make my way over to her, and she’s throwing her arms over me, saying it should’ve been us. I have a boyfriend fell out of my mouth. And then …” I blow out a loud breath.
“Then what?”
I lower my voice. “I said I’d go to her wedding next weekend. With my boyfriend.” My head hits the table again and bangs against it repeatedly. Why the fuck did I agree to that? Not that she gave me much choice. That’s exactly how I ended up staying in a relationship with her for three years.
“You what?” Stacy shrieks.
“I was expecting a ‘I was so drunk. Maybe you shouldn’t come’ text this morning. Instead, I’m woken up by a phone call from my mother. Chastity had texted her mom, who called mine, and now everything’s screwed. Mom’s asking why I didn’t tell her I was seeing someone and how disappointed she was to find out from the Wellses. She demanded I come home and bring my boyfriend with me to stay the weekend while I attend the wedding.”
Stacy sniggers.
“Real helpful, Stace. Have you ever had to endure a guilt trip from a small-town mom? I’m surprised by the time we hung up this morning I hadn’t agreed to move home with the boyfriend I don’t actually have.”