Total pages in book: 101
Estimated words: 98321 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 492(@200wpm)___ 393(@250wpm)___ 328(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 98321 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 492(@200wpm)___ 393(@250wpm)___ 328(@300wpm)
“What happened was that I was an idiot,” she said, her tone bitter. “I believed his lies, I let him convince me he just needed more time, and I turned a blind eye to all the signs he would never be ready for a lifetime commitment.”
“Why’d you do all that?”
“Because I loved him.” Her eyes met mine, and they were bright with tears. She’d worn contacts tonight instead of her glasses. It made her look different. “And I wanted him to love me back the same way. But no amount of wanting could make that true.”
“But he must have loved you,” I argued. “Why else would he date you for five years?”
She shrugged, taking another sip of her Manhattan. “Maybe he loved me. But not enough. And what’s the use of that?”
I didn’t have an answer.
“He always had some condition that had to be met, or some goal he had to reach, before he could think about the next phase of his life—getting married and having a family, which is what he said he ultimately wanted. For a while, it was turning thirty, then it was making partner at his firm, then it was landing this certain big client, then it was closing the case.” She shook her head. “But there was always another big client and the next big case. I realized I was never going to come first. And then I realized that it was all lies anyway—he was sleeping with a woman at his firm.”
“Seriously? What a prick.” I felt like kicking his ass. If you want your sexual independence, fine—but don’t lie about it. I tossed back the rest of my drink in an angry gesture.
“And she probably wasn’t the first.”
“I’m sorry, Bianca,” I said, wondering if I’d ever uttered those words before and meant them.
“The worst thing was, even after that came to light, I went to him and said, ‘Last chance. If you want a life with me, it starts now.’ And he said he wasn’t willing to give up the life he had for the future we’d planned.”
“Fuck.” Now I really wanted to beat the shit out of him. “What did you do?”
She tipped up the last of her cocktail. “I left him that night and went to stay with a friend. Quit my job the next day. Two weeks later, I moved back here.”
“You did the right thing. That asshole didn’t deserve you.”
“Thanks. So what about you?” she asked, swirling the cherry around the bottom of her glass. Not one of those fake maraschino ones, either—she had little jars of Michigan cherries she’d brandied herself. I dug that.
“What about me?” Setting my empty glass on the table, I propped my head in my hand along the back of the couch, pulling one knee up on the cushion between us. The bottoms of her feet were now resting against my shin.
“What’s been your longest relationship?” She plucked the cherry from her glass and ate it.
“Define relationship.”
She grinned. “It’s a thing where you date one person exclusively for a somewhat lengthy period of time.”
“Hmm.” I pretended to think. “I believe there was a girl in high school that I drove home from school every day for like four months.”
She poked me with her toes. “That’s not a relationship, that’s a carpool.”
“If her parents weren’t home, sometimes she’d invite me in and give me a hand job in her bedroom. Does that help?”
Her nose wrinkled. “No. You’re a pig.”
“Oh relax, I actually liked that girl.” I grabbed her toes and tugged. “And I returned the favor.”
“Did you?” Her eyebrows arched. Her toes pointed.
“Of course I did. I’m a gentleman and a feminist. I always return a favor.”
She set her glass down on the table and folded her arms over her chest, eyeballing me shrewdly. “What about Juliet?”
“Who?”
“Juliet. The one who blew you in the parking lot after the Romeo audition.”
“What about her?”
“Did you return that favor?”
“Not in the parking lot. But yes, I did.”
“Interesting.”
“Why’s that interesting?”
She shrugged. “I don’t know. Some guys don’t like returning that favor.”
“Some guys are idiots.”
She glanced over at the fireplace, the flames dancing in her eyes. “Are you good at it?”
My jaw nearly hit my chest. “Huh?”
“Are you good at it?” Her expression turned sly. “I mean, what if I want to brag about your sexual prowess or something?”
“To who?”
“I don’t know.” Her shoulders rose. “Girls talk sometimes.”
Recovering—sort of—I sat up a little taller. “Well, you can safely brag about my talent in that capacity. I know my way around a woman’s orgasm.”
“Do you?” She looked intrigued. It was hot as fuck, and I couldn’t resist giving her more than she asked for.
“Yes. I’m patient, intuitive, and very, very good with my tongue.”
Her face turned the color of brandied cherries, but she held my gaze.
“And with my lips, my hands, and my—”