Total pages in book: 110
Estimated words: 106774 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 534(@200wpm)___ 427(@250wpm)___ 356(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 106774 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 534(@200wpm)___ 427(@250wpm)___ 356(@300wpm)
The thought makes me laugh, and my stress eases. Finally.
I start the car and buckle up, then I reach for the gear shifter. But I make a last-minute change of plans and grab my phone instead. Gray’s name is at the top of my text chain with a cowboy by his name.
Me: I hate you a smidgen less.
Gray : Don’t. You’re buying my lunch while we’re there, and I eat. A lot.
Me: Never mind. I hate you the same.
Gray : Thank God.
“Asshole,” I say, grinning as I leave the facility.
CHAPTER
SEVENTEEN
Astrid
I need help.
My best friend and I have been in a serious relationship for almost three years. We moved in together a year ago and have talked about getting married and starting a family. We’re both ready to take the next step. But here’s the problem—he’s not talked to me in two weeks because he found out that I’m a flirt. (His friends witnessed some of my antics at a bar. Good times.)
I admit it, okay? I love to flirt. I love other men flirting with me. Dare I say that I need the attention? I don’t do it in front of my boyfriend, and I have zero intention of letting it lead into anything more than a few innuendos and winks while I’m out with my friends or on a work trip. I say it’s a harmless way of bolstering my confidence. He says it’s cheating.
So … am I the villain?
For the thirtieth time, I read through the question Gianna sent me to answer for the column. For the thirtieth time, I’m stupefied.
When I agreed to submit a response to an anonymous question, I expected it to be easy. After all, one of my not-so-finest qualities is that I can be judgmental. But as I sit with the question, I find that it’s not easy at all.
I tuck my legs beneath me and curl up into the corner of my couch.
My first instinct was to tell the woman that if she values her relationship, she’ll stop flirting. But I got halfway through that response and decided I didn’t really agree with what I was writing. Flirting in and of itself isn’t a bad thing. Then I started a reply that if her man can’t trust her not to actually cheat, then she needs to run. It didn’t take long until I realized that wasn’t a good answer, either.
It's so hard when you’re asked to be judgmental on the spot.
“Come in,” I shout, closing my computer when a knock comes from the entryway.
“It’s me!” Audrey’s voice rings through my apartment before her pretty face appears around the corner. “Hey!”
I smile at her. “Hey. How was work?”
“We’re not talking about it.” She winces. “It was one of those days. But there was one bit of sunshine today.”
“Really? Tell me.”
The door clicks open again, and the telltale sign of Gianna’s heels clicks against the linoleum floor. “Have I ever mentioned that I loathe street parking?”
Audrey looks at me and grins. “Only every time you do it.”
“I wasn’t born to be a parallel parker.” Gianna sweeps through the room with main-character energy and collapses into a rocking chair that I picked up at a consignment store around Christmastime. “I need one of those cars that do it for you.”
“They make those?” I wrinkle my nose. “I think you imagined that.”
Gianna shakes her head. “No, they do. I have no idea what they’re called, but I was boinking a dude from Franklin who drove one. It’s a cool feature.”
“Boinking.” Audrey giggles. “Where do you come up with these terms?”
“Fine. Fucking. Is that better?” Gianna sticks her tongue out at Audrey. “Anyway, I’m here. Can someone fill me in on why we were summoned here on a rainy Thursday night? I canceled a nail appointment for this, I’ll have you know.”
All eyes are on me. I’m the one who called the emergency meeting, and I’m embarrassed about it.
Going with Gray to Sugar Creek tomorrow is no big deal. I’ve told myself this a thousand times. It’s a free ride because he was going there anyway. But despite how many times I say it, whether it’s just repeating it in my head or speaking it aloud, my body refuses to believe that I’m not about to run a marathon with lions.
The adrenaline and anxiety are real.
I uncoil my legs and plant them on the floor. My insides squirm with the anticipation of telling my friends about my trip tomorrow, and I wish I could get away with not telling them at all. They’re going to overreact and probably make my nervousness worse before they make it better.
Why am I nervous to begin with?
And what am I going to wear?
God, I’m a mess. And I hate being messy.
I just need a moment to pull myself together.
“Before I get into why I asked you to come over, can you finish your sunshine story, Aud?” I ask.