Total pages in book: 91
Estimated words: 90736 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 454(@200wpm)___ 363(@250wpm)___ 302(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 90736 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 454(@200wpm)___ 363(@250wpm)___ 302(@300wpm)
Finally, he nods. “All right.” Gives his daughter a look. “If you need anything, I’ll be in by the computer.” Looks at me. “I matched with a woman named Linda last night. Widowed, sixty—but she has a seven-year-old, so I’m not sure if it’ll work out.”
“Dad!” Harlow can’t stop herself from admonishing him. “Dear God, could you not make this about you? Now is not the time!”
We watch him slither off into his Big Lair, and I can’t help but wish Kevin were here to round out the crew, this odd little trio I seem to have recently found myself in the center of.
“I can’t think of a single thing to say that will make this better,” I admit. “The only way out of this is to call Paisley back.”
Harlow answers by snorting again.
I pull the phone out of my back pocket. “I’ll put her on speaker so we can both hear what she has to say, at the same time—then you’ll know I’m not hiding anything or harboring any feelings for her.”
While Paisley and I might have spent many months together having fun, I am not in love with her and not sure I ever was—returning her phone call with Harlow in the room is the only way out of this mess.
“She made that statement to save face,” I explain. “I’m sure she saw that picture of us and got jealous—this is her way of pouting and trying to keep her name in the news.”
Harlow tilts her chin up. “Most people just eat a pint of ice cream and chocolate and bitch to their friends when they’re upset about their ex moving on.”
Paisley isn’t most people.
She is a model, a popular, spoiled woman who loves being the center of attention.
Her statement was a strategic power move to make Harlow feel shitty and insecure—the only way Paisley knows how to make other women feel—and it worked.
“She did this to take the attention off me and our happiness and place it on her.”
Funny how much clarity we have after a relationship has ended, how we change as people, therefore being so turned off by the things we once wanted and needed and sought out.
Like beauty and fame and money.
Her actions revolt me.
Slowly, Harlow nods. “Okay. I’m open to calling her.”
Thank fucking God.
“I’ll put her on speaker, ’kay?”
She nods again. “Okay.”
I tap through my phone and select the contact, careful not to hit video chat. How fucking terrible would that be? The last thing Harlow wants to see beaming back at her is my ex-girlfriend’s face.
Three rings and Paisley answers.
“Hey there,” she says by way of greeting. She hesitates. “Am I on speaker?”
“Yes.”
There’re a few more seconds of silence. “Are you calling because I called you or because you saw my statement?”
“Both.” I pause. “Why did you do it?”
On the other end of the line, Paisley lets out a long, dramatic sigh. “Honestly, I don’t know. I wrote it, and then they printed it—and I immediately regretted it.” She laughs. “And you know I don’t regret many things—I don’t possess that gene.”
No. She’s pretty self-centered.
“We haven’t spoken in months, and you do this? It makes no sense.” I wait for her to confirm what I’ve told Harlow several times, that she and I have had no communication.
“I know. But then I saw you on the news with that . . . person, and it got me thinking about how much fun we used to have.”
“First of all, her name is Harlow—and making that statement was really fucked up. It makes you look really petty.”
“So?”
Beside me, Harlow’s eyes almost bug out of her skull. “Is she being serious?” she mouths, clearly shocked at Paisley’s candor, her lack of empathy, her lack of giving a fuck about how the situation affects me.
“And before you accuse me of being jealous, don’t make me laugh.” Paisley’s high-pitched laugh is the kind of sound that comes out of your throat when you know you’re full of shit.
“I never said anything about you being jealous.”
“Of some farm girl from Wisconsin.”
Harlow rears back, eyes wide. “That bitch,” she mouths. Then, “How dare she!”
I pat her on the leg to soothe her. “So you saw me on the news with someone new and you wanted to what? Get back together?” I add a chuckle to the end of my statement to let everyone know how preposterous the idea is.
“No.” She hesitates before slowly uttering, “Well, maybe.”
Shit.
That is not what I wanted or expected her to admit, especially while Harlow is listening.
“Yeah—that’s never happening.” I say it with a firm tone. “Ever. Just so we are clear. If you missed me, waiting until you saw me with someone new is shady and petty, and telling the whole fucking world I’m going to come crawling back is absolutely bonkers.”
Bonkers.
I pat myself on the back for inserting the word petty into my sentence as if I used it in everyday jargon.