Total pages in book: 97
Estimated words: 96586 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 483(@200wpm)___ 386(@250wpm)___ 322(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 96586 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 483(@200wpm)___ 386(@250wpm)___ 322(@300wpm)
He gives me a teasing grin – another surprise. “I’ll manage.”
After insisting I’ll gather my stuff and meet him there, he swiftly exits.
My prompt leaving on the other hand is halted by overly curious assistant. “Where are you going?”
“To lunch and then to finish working from home.” I leave out the line about alcohol being involved.
“Oh!” She yaps like a toy poodle who wasn’t expecting to get picked up. “Should I redirect your calls to your cell or have them leave messages for you to return tomorrow?”
Slowly moving towards the employees only area, I point. “That one.”
“And if Katherine calls?”
“Tell her to text me.”
“And if your significant other calls again?”
“Tell him the truth.” The grin on my face grows malicious. “That I’m not here.”
“But-”
“You’ve got this, Clemmy,” I hastily hum out and get my body moving quicker so that she’s left with no more room to object.
Lunch will do me some good.
And so will a margarita.
Or maybe even a couple tequila shots.
Getting over to Dos Mamas is a breeze.
Traffic is light and the country music playlist I’m listening to is wonderfully upbeat.
Xander and I get settled out on the patio where things are much to our surprise not unbearably hot for a summer afternoon. It doesn’t take long for the waitress to greet us, drop off chips as well as salsa, and scurry away to retrieve the large margaritas with top shelf tequila for us.
From across the table, I watch my ex-boyfriend struggle to get adjusted in the metal seat. “How was your um…,” he scoots the chair around again, “your birthday last week?” Finally settled, his gaze meets mine. “Did you get the card I sent?”
“I did,” I warmly inform while fixing the collar of my white button up blouse. “It was unexpected but…thoughtful.”
Extremely thoughtful considering it had a tulip on the front and said “To the best Sylvia Plath fan I know” on the inside.
I really do love that poem from her.
It’s probably my favorite she did.
And the fact some part of him remembers that well…was the part that was truly unexpected.
“I would’ve sent more or something else; however, I wasn’t sure if they’d reach you since I wasn’t sure if the emails or flowers I had sent had.”
My mouth moves to tell him I’ve gotten everything, I’ve just been ignoring in hopes he’d go away.
That I wouldn’t have to have one more hard conversation on top of the others I’m having my current relationship.
Or ex-relationship?
Ugh.
Still don’t know what the fuck to make of all that.
Rather than answering, I simply smile and fall into the old habit of stuffing food in my mouth to avoid spewing words.
“It’s been months since we’ve had any actual communication, Presley.”
Yup.
It turns out that I am still quite the master of running away from my problems.
To. This. Very. Fucking. Day.
“Did you do anything special for your birthday?” Xander inquires at the same time he reaches for a chip.
“Pretty low key. Took the day off. Had a little family get together.”
“Odd.” He has a bite of the tortilla treat. “You and Katherine didn’t do something?”
“No, she’s out of town for work again, but she did book us a couple’s getaway at Martha’s Vineyard for next month.”
“Couples?”
The waitress delivers our drinks just in time to help the difficult subject.
I immediately lift my glass while he repeats the question, heartbreak undeniably in pumping through his voice. “As in…as in you’re seeing someone?”
Ice cold lime flavor soothes my senses but unfortunately not long enough. Putting down the glass is followed by me releasing a calming breath and replying. “I am.”
He loosens his tie prior to investigating, “Is it serious?”
“Very.”
More sorrow slides into his expression prompting me to stuff more chips into my mouth. “Was this person the reason we didn’t work out?”
Oh.
Oh….
How the fuck do I answer that?
“We didn’t work out, Xander, because we weren’t right for each other.”
Confusion cloaks his face. “We were perfect for each other.”
“Except we weren’t,” I swiftly argue.
“How can you say that?”
“Because there’s a difference between being comfortable and being right.” Instead of leaving room for him to argue, which it is evident he’s ready to do, I decide it would be better to demonstrate. “Do you like hockey?”
“What?”
“Do you like hockey?” my casual repeating is accompanied by me dipping a chip in the salsa. “It’s a simple question.”
“It’s a strange question.”
“Just answer it.”
He reaches for his glass at the same time he shakes his head. “No. To be honest, I find the sport rather grotesque.”
“I fucking love it.”
Xander stops mid-sip. “What?”
“Yeah. The violence. The blood. The brutality. The fact its like war on ice.” An overdramatic swoon escapes. “Hands down my favorite sport.”
“I didn’t even know you liked sports.”
“It’s something new for me,” I warmly gush. “And you know else I like? Goat cheese.”
“You used to hate goat cheese.”
“No,” my voice delicately denies, “you hate goat cheese; therefore, you believed I hated goat cheese. You wanna know what I hate? American Revolution documentaries.”