Total pages in book: 70
Estimated words: 67733 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 339(@200wpm)___ 271(@250wpm)___ 226(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 67733 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 339(@200wpm)___ 271(@250wpm)___ 226(@300wpm)
“Where’s your goddamn respect for me, huh?” I loudly screech, voice echoing off the walls. “Where’s the fucking trust?!”
He cracks his jaw open yet doesn’t dare say anything.
“I fucking texted you to tell you we were coming! Check your phone.”
His hand slides into his pocket, face falling at the sight of unread messages from me.
“And for the record, I didn’t pick the fucking restaurant tonight, and the second that they had, I texted to tell you I’d be in with work people including Daniel. I even fucking texted you before walking through the goddamn door telling you to come by and say hi to me! Why would I do any of that shit if I was trying to ‘parade an affair’ around behind your fucking back?!”
His mouth momentarily bobs in speechlessness.
“How fucking stupid do you think I am?!”
There’s a twitch of his lips but not much else.
“I have never given you a single fucking reason to think I’m still into Daniel. Not. One. And every time you have one of these stupid little tantrums, I always reassure you that you have nothing to worry about. I show you our conversations. I let you read the emails. I invite you to hang out with us to prove to you that whatever was between me and Daniel in that department isn’t getting some sort of Greatest Hits album action. It is…exhausting to keep going through this shit with you. We fucking live together, Tate. I added capital to invest in your business right along with the rest of your family. I’m carrying your goddamn child! What more do I have to do for you to believe me about this shit?! For you to fucking trust me the way I deserve to be trusted?!”
Tate’s green gaze widens to epic proportions. “You’re…what?”
Shit!
That is not how that was supposed to come out!
See this is why you should never emotionally argue! You never know what kind of info might fall out!
Excitement threatens to take over his expression. “You’re-”
“I’m pissed is what I am,” I cruelly chomp on a stomp of the heel. “I am so over your jealousy bullshit. And the fact you have the balls to stand around and accuse me of cheating or anything related to cheating is a mind fuck, when it’s you who goes out drinking after his shift with chicks he works with. When it’s you who comes home with receipts that have other women’s phone numbers scribbled on them. When it’s you who deletes but doesn’t block the thirsty tramps that DM you at two in the morning. You think living with all that shit is easy? You don’t think that I have thoughts that you’ll wander off to someone who’s younger or thinner or eager to please your ass like a fucking Stepford wife? Well, I do.” My face leans forward towards his. “And then I let them go because I believe you when you tell me that I can trust you. Because I believe you when you say I’m the only one for you. Because I believe you when you tell me you love me.” The shake of my head is slow. Emotionally painful. “When am I gonna get that same fucking courtesy?”
“Harp-”
“I have a dinner I have to get back to not because I ‘love dining all around the city’ with these people but because they could challenge or potentially end my career by simply muttering how unprofessional they believe me to be. And ending up as a homeless, single mother is not on my goals before I’m forty list, so if you’ll excuse me.”
My body begins to brush past his when his fingers feather mine. “Harper, wai-”
“No.” Snatching them away is followed by a deepened scowl. “And I suggest you find somewhere else to sleep tonight. Perhaps the ‘Heartbreak Hotel’ has a vacancy.”
The Elvis flavored dig appears to hurt on two levels leaving me feeling both satisfied and sad as I stroll back the direction of my table.
Ironic that this all started because I never wanted to see him look heartbroken again, yet it’s him who keeps breaking my heart.
Almost makes me wish I was a bigger Alanis Morissette fan.
That shit would make the perfect cry into my crabcakes anthem right now.
Chapter 12
Tate
I don’t miss this.
In fact, in all honesty, I never enjoyed couch hopping.
What is there to enjoy?
You’re snoozing somewhere a ton of other people have farted or vomited or masturbated.
And I know that’s happened on this one because it led to a very awkward, very casual conversation about living room boundaries that I believe Gabby and I both only minorly respected.
I mean does bending a chick over the arm of the couch really violate the no sex where we sit rule?
Doesn’t that strictly imply just the cushions?
All of a sudden, a sting in my cheek shoots my eyes open. “Coño!”