Total pages in book: 93
Estimated words: 91058 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 455(@200wpm)___ 364(@250wpm)___ 304(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 91058 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 455(@200wpm)___ 364(@250wpm)___ 304(@300wpm)
“Hand him the phone,” Hudson demands.
“The guy?”
“Yes.”
I do as he says, watching on as Hudson talks to Jar/Jer. The guy’s blond eyebrows shoot up in surprise and then they clamp down in anger before he hands the phone back to me and stands up to walk away without another word.
“Okay…bye?” I hold the phone back to my ear. “What’d you say to him? He looked annoyed.”
“Doesn’t matter. Stay with the group.”
“The group is kind of spread out…”
I look over to see Jordy making out with the basketball player. She has to stand on the couch just to reach his face, but they seem to be just fine with the arrangement.
“Where’s Hannah?” Hudson asks.
“Behind the DJ booth.”
I look over to see she’s stolen the poor guy’s headphones and is making Gabriella take multiple boomerangs of her. We look like a bunch of moms.
“Sorry I called you. I didn’t mean to drag you into this.”
“I’m not upset.”
He says it so emphatically I’m inclined to believe him.
“That’s good. I’m not upset either.”
He laughs.
There’s a natural lull, and I feel compelled to continue our conversation by any means possible, even if that means saying something stupid. “You really screwed me over by scaring away that guy…”
“Oh really?” he replies dryly.
“Yeah, everyone is supposed to get laid tonight, and he was my only option.”
“What?”
“It’s like a bachelorette party rite of passage.”
“Scarlett—”
“But here’s the thing, I’d rather not have sex with anyone else—”
“Scarlett—”
“Why’d you leave my apartment after? Was it because you were scared I’d be clingy or something?”
“Fuck.”
God I love the way the word sounds coming from his mouth. It’s like he’s absolutely drained of energy. It’s just the way he sounded after we had sex.
“You said I was perfect.”
“You were. You are.” He sounds absolutely resolute about that fact.
I smile a dopey drunk smile.
“Perfect,” I repeat.
And when he doesn’t say anything, doesn’t chastise me for bringing up this subject, I decide I should keep talking.
“I have dreams you know.”
There’s nothing but silence on the other end of the line, but I know he’s listening with bated breath. I can picture him sitting there, hoping I’ll continue despite the wrongness of it. We’ve been so good since I went into his office and offered a truce. We haven’t gone back to working out together. We don’t hang out outside of work at all. We’re nice to each other in the office, we make small talk when the option is available. I’ll bring him coffee, he’ll invite me to lunch with Lucy and him. But everything from before—all the ways we were trying to sneak by fate—has been carefully avoided until now.
“About you,” I finish. I hear his sharp intake of breath and I know I’ve struck a chord. “They’re rated R. Very, very risqué and troublesome. You see…every time it happens, when I wake up from one of these dreams, I feel empty.” I smile a salacious smile. “Do you ever feel that way, Hudson?”
“Yes.”
The word is stern but honest, and I love it.
“What do you do?” I ask, wanting to test this drunken power while I’ve still got it.
“You don’t want to know.”
I tsk. “I really, really do.”
“You’re playing with fire here, Scarlett.”
“Aww, don’t leave me hanging…or I might have to go track down that guy you scared off.”
I can imagine how lethal his eyes look right now, how out of control he feels to have me so far away testing the boundaries like this.
“What do I do?” he repeats. “I think back on the way you looked on your couch. I reimagine the entire night. I torture myself with every tiny detail.”
“Sounds painful.”
“It is.”
“I wish I could help. I could help.”
“Tell me the name of the club and I’ll order you an Uber.”
Ugh. I want to pout at the change in subject. “You don’t have to…”
We could go right back to imagining ways to torture each other.
“I’d rather know you’ll get home safe than have to worry about some drunken fool hitting on you again.”
“Maybe I want to be hit on.”
There’s a sigh on his end of the line, but it doesn’t sound like exasperation so much as desperation. “I thought we agreed on our path forward. Strictly friends.”
“Yes, and then I got drunk and lonely and now here I am, practically begging for a morsel of your attention.” I know I’ve taken things too far, know this conversation will come back to bite me in the morning, but for now, I have to know one more thing. “If you were here, and I wasn’t drunk—”
“Yes.” He cuts me off before I can even finish.
I laugh. “So impatient.”
“You have no fucking idea.”
I love the gruffness in his voice. It does something to me, twists up my insides, makes me shift on my seat. I tip my head back and look up at the strobe lights on the ceiling. Everyone in the club falls away. The blaring music mutes to nothing. “I wish you’d tell me more…”