Total pages in book: 106
Estimated words: 102479 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 512(@200wpm)___ 410(@250wpm)___ 342(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 102479 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 512(@200wpm)___ 410(@250wpm)___ 342(@300wpm)
“Oh. Shoot. Okay…forget I called. Go have a great time.” He paused and then added an awkward, “Woohoo! Happy hour.”
What is he up to? “No so fast. What post were you calling about?”
“Eh, it’s not important.”
“Miles Brighton Hartley, you know I can’t just forget that you have gossip juicy enough to call me about.”
He groaned. “Just this once, try. Keep off social media and enjoy your evening.”
“Hang on a second.” Of course, I did the exact opposite of what he’d just told me because now I needed to know. Lowering my phone, I was about to swipe to go on to social media, but a missed call stopped me. My mother. A pit formed in my stomach. If my mother was calling me, that meant—
I swiped the missed call away and went straight to Instagram. One, two…three scrolls in, and the reason for Miles’s call smacked me square in the face.
Colette looking up at Brendan with a big smile—as she held out a sonogram picture. I stopped in place on the busy New York City sidewalk. Someone cursed and stepped around me.
“Move it, lady!”
“What the fuck!” another guy said.
“Get out of the damn way!” a woman spat.
After the third person yelled at me, I managed to step out of the flow of traffic and stand against a building. I’d almost forgotten I was on the phone until I heard a faint voice in the distance.
“Sutton, are you there?”
I lifted the cell back to my ear. “Sorry, yeah, I’m here.”
“You just went on Instagram, didn’t you?”
I nodded, though Miles clearly couldn’t see me. “Why does it hurt? I mean, this was inevitable. He married her, for God’s sake.”
“Because you did all the hard work for nothing, that’s why. That man would be wearing a gray zip-up hoodie and Crocs if you hadn’t helped him. It’s like someone buying your fully trained dog after three years of you cleaning up its piss.”
I smiled sadly. “I really need to move on.”
“You have moved on. What you need is to move up and down.”
I took a deep breath and let it out on a big sigh. “Yeah.”
“I’m sorry I ruined your night, cookie.”
“You didn’t ruin it. I’m actually glad I found out before I had a few drinks.”
“Are you still going to go for happy hour?”
I felt even less like mingling with strangers now, not to mention my feet were starting to hurt in these heels, but I knew myself—going home would only make it worse. “Yeah, I’m going to go for at least a little while.”
“Excellent. Maybe find some dork who works in a different department with a face made for radio and a body made for the big screen.”
“Why does he need to have a radio-worthy face?”
“Because men tend to only look in the mirror when they go to the bathroom, which means they just see their face. The homely guys forget they have a killer bod and feel like they have to work twice as hard in the bedroom to make up for it.”
“I can’t tell if you’re a genius or you just make this stuff up.”
“Only one way to find out. Bring a homely boy home and take him for a test ride.”
I shook my head. “I’ll call you tomorrow.”
“You better.”
I stayed in the same spot for a long time, staring at the people moving along the sidewalk, yet not really seeing them while completely lost in thought. Then I did the inevitable—called up Instagram again to take a closer look at the stupid picture. The sparkling diamond on the hand holding up the sonogram hurt less the second time, but my heart still had a welt on it from the first wallop. Somehow, though, I managed to tuck my phone into my purse, force one foot in front of the other, and walk the next block to happy hour. Or perhaps now more appropriately called gloom hour. Though a few buildings down from the entrance, my steps again abruptly came to a halt. This time, to watch a man open the door for a woman. Jagger put his hand on the tall blonde’s back—the small of her back—and guided her inside. My heart sank. They walked side by side to an elevator bank where they waited, then disappeared, all smiles.
My heart twisted in my chest, and I felt tears threatening. Which was absolutely ridiculous—seeing a man I’d met less than two weeks ago with another woman should not hurt more than seeing that my ex was having a baby with my stepsister. Especially since Jagger and I had never done more than a little flirting. Yet I couldn’t help what I felt. Disappointment left a deep pain in my chest, and I wasn’t sure what to do next.
As if on cue, my phone buzzed from my pocket. Needing a distraction, I pulled it out.