Total pages in book: 101
Estimated words: 93583 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 468(@200wpm)___ 374(@250wpm)___ 312(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 93583 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 468(@200wpm)___ 374(@250wpm)___ 312(@300wpm)
“I’m sorry. I should have just listened instead of trying to justify every sordid moment of my past that’s been captured on video,” I say, and she crosses her arms over her chest.
“Do you know they have a nickname for your penis?” She doesn’t wait for me to answer. “Do you know there is a website that has the number of women you have slept with on a ticker? Do you know the names of half the women you have slept with? Have you ever slept with the same person twice?”
“Yes?” I say to her on the last one. I mean, come on.
“I don’t mean twice in the same night. I mean, twice in the same week?” Okay, now she is getting picky. “There were pictures of you last week. You are pictured with ten different women.”
“So?” I say to her now, crossing my arms over my own chest.
“There are only seven days in the week.” Okay, fine, she got me there, but it isn’t my fault.
“I have a high sex drive,” I tell her, not even sure why I have to tell her details that are really none of her damn business.
“I don’t give a shit,” she says, and the way she swears makes me want to laugh. “I don’t care if you fuck up to five times an hour. What I care about is you doing it and it being on an Instagram or in a Snapchat video for the world to see.”
“I’m confused. Do you care or not?” I try to make a joke, but she just glares at me, so I hold up my hands. “Okay, how about we go back in, and we can talk about things?” I see that she isn’t falling for the old Carter Johnson charm. In fact, I think it’s the opposite. Can she be immune to it? “Grab your bag, and we can do all the brainstorming you want.”
She looks at me, and I can see that she doesn’t trust me. “I swear. I promise to be on my best behavior, and if I’m not, you can leave.”
“Fine,” she says, grabbing her bag and turning to walk back down the side stairs with me. We sit down, and I’m ready for whatever she throws at me. We go through all my Facebook accounts, and that one isn’t as bad as the rest are. I don’t tell her it’s because Jeff takes care of that one. Heck, she was actually excited about the state it was in. When we finish that, I look at the time and see it’s almost lunchtime.
“I need to eat since I have a photo shoot in two hours,” I tell her. “Why don’t you come inside, and you can sit at the counter and talk to me while I make us some lunch?”
“You are going to cook for me?” she asks in shock. “Like food, food or . . .?”
“I can cook,” I tell her, pushing away from the table and walking inside. She grabs her stuff and comes into the kitchen with me. Pulling out a chair, she sits as I open the fridge and grab a water bottle to hand to her. “You haven’t hydrated in at least two hours, so drink that,” I tell her, and she grabs the bottle and finishes half. “Why didn’t you ask me for water if you were thirsty?” I ask her, grabbing a red pepper, an onion, and a green pepper. I walk to the counter in front of her and set the ingredients down, then grab a cutting board and a knife. She doesn’t answer, and instead, she is straight back to business.
“How many times a week do you cook for yourself?” she asks me and grabs her phone and snaps a picture. “That is going to be your first ‘I’m a good boy on my best behavior’ Instagram picture.”
“You can even use that as a caption.” I wink at her, and she rolls her eyes at me. I begin to slice the vegetables. “I cook whenever I have a chance.”
“How did you learn to cook?” she asks me as I grab the chicken breast from the fridge. I drizzle some olive oil in the pan and sauté the veggies, turning to her.
“Is this an interview?” I joke with her, slicing the chicken into strips.
“No, but it’s good for me to know, so I can spin this into a positive thing.”
“My parents were really never parents, so I had to fend for myself,” I say, and I want to take it back. The last thing I want is to open that side of me up to her scrutiny. “They worked long hours.” I toss the chicken in with the veggies. “Are you a vegetarian?” I look in the pan and stir it with a wooden spoon. “I guess I should have asked before.” I look over my shoulder at her, and she snaps another picture.