Total pages in book: 144
Estimated words: 133138 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 666(@200wpm)___ 533(@250wpm)___ 444(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 133138 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 666(@200wpm)___ 533(@250wpm)___ 444(@300wpm)
“Damn, girl. I didn’t do nothing yet. Just got you cheese and alcohol. Is that all it takes these days?” she teases. But she finishes up with a heart-felt, “Love you too. Don’t make me get all weepy, though. This eye makeup took me forty-five minutes, and I’m going to make the most of it.”
She gives me what I think is supposed to be a modelesque smize look, and it’s actually not half-bad . . . until she twitches.
“Was that supposed to be a wink? Or do you have a lash in your eye?”
“Bitch.” She takes a long drink of her sangria and then lifts her chin at me, silently telling me to drink up. “All right, time for the nitty-gritty. What the hell happened with you and Simon?”
“Uhm . . . well . . .” I fall quiet, unable to find the words.
“Okay, how about this instead . . . stop me if I’m wrong. He got one look at that twerking ass on day one and was smitten. Chased you all over Paris until he got in your pants, or more likely, got you out of them. He fucked you stupid and sore at every possible opportunity, and you caught the feels. When Chloe pulled her stunt, you went DEFCON Five and blew everything up. ’Bout right?”
My eyes have fallen to the table where I’m studiously choosing a type of cheese as if it’s a life and death decision. I mean, is heartbreak more of a cheddar or a blue cheese situation? “DEFCON One. Five is the best, one is the worst. But it wasn’t only sex. It was . . . more. Or I thought it was.”
“Was it the real deal?” Molly asks around the cheese she picked easily and shoved into her mouth.
“More real than anything I’ve ever felt before. We didn’t say it, but I fell in love with him. That’s what the necklace thing was about. When he put that on me, it meant something. And when I put one on him, I was saying . . .” I trail off and shove cheese in my mouth, not knowing or caring what kind it is.
“Hmm. Well, shit. If it was what you say it was, are you gonna give him a chance when he comes crawling your way? Maybe make him grovel a bit? Or apologize with his tongue?” She grins gleefully. “Oh! You could tie him up, sit on his face, and have him write his apology on your clit with his tongue till you come at least three times. And then? Cockblock him. That’d be fun.”
I can’t help but laugh a little at her crazy ideas, and somehow, a confession falls off my tongue. “He always made me come more than that.”
Molly’s eyes bug out. “More. Than. Three. Times?” When I look at her sheepishly, she shakes her head. “Girl, I know you’re smart and all, but sometimes you can be stupid as hell. If a man was making my kitty purr like that, I’d be latched onto his dick no matter what.”
She’s kidding, but I don’t laugh this time. It wasn’t the sex with Simon, though that was amazing. It was who he is. Or who I thought he was.
“It doesn’t matter. I’m not going there, and he’s not coming here. Why would he? He can have anyone, obviously. And I’m just . . . me. The foolish young American who got duped.”
“I’m pretty sure you mean . . . the amazing, awesome Autumn who got—” She jumps, “Sorry, hang on.” She digs around in her purse for a moment until she finds her phone and then clicks around on it for a moment. “Text message to confirm a meeting.”
“For a job? Are you thinking of staying in New York?” I’m excited at the prospect of having her here. Then I won’t be so lonely, at least, and Molly and I can definitely have fun whether we’re bingeing Netflix or going out. Though it’ll be a while before I feel like a night on the town beyond this. I eat another piece of cheese, washing it down with sangria.
“I don’t know. I’ve got feelers out all over. The competition got us all a bit of attention.” She looks out the window and points. “Hey! Look at that!”
The Times Square view is what this place is known for, but there’s no telling what Molly is checking out in the mass of people below. Naked cowboy? Drunk Elmo? A bachelor party of muscled up men in fancy suits? It could be nearly anything.
I follow where Molly’s pointing to find one of the famous LED billboards displaying a picture of . . . me and Simon in front of the Eiffel Tower. I’m looking at the camera and smiling goofily, and Simon is looking at me with a soft, adoring expression. I think I’m dreaming for a moment, but there’s no mistaking my flaming hair in high definition, nor Simon’s sharp jawline.