Total pages in book: 120
Estimated words: 121755 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 609(@200wpm)___ 487(@250wpm)___ 406(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 121755 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 609(@200wpm)___ 487(@250wpm)___ 406(@300wpm)
This worked for me.
I had no deliveries tomorrow. My plan was to bake the cakes I needed to decorate for my Tuesday delivery after my shift at SC, and then I was free.
Therefore, that was why it was one o’clock in the afternoon and I was standing in my clean and tidy living room, the mimosas had worn off, the big brunch I ate was wearing off, I had nothing pressing to do, and I was feeling lost.
And Gabe and I hadn’t made any plans.
For that afternoon…
Or at all.
He didn’t even mention it.
To be fair, neither had I.
And even if we were a thing, which we were (hmm), that didn’t mean we needed to spend every minute we could together.
But he’d been so in my space since he declared his intentions, and his presence was so quietly charismatic (unless he was talking, then he was verbally charismatic), it occupied everything (mostly my mind) even when he wasn’t around.
And since I’d quit fighting it, I had to face the truth that I really liked having him around.
Actually, I loved it.
Thus, not knowing when I was going to see him again made everything feel…
Empty.
I decided enough time had elapsed since the big event, thus I took out my phone and texted Raye and Cap with, So happy for you! Congratulations!!!!! and added a confetti screen effect.
If they were still celebrating, they could ignore it, but I wanted to make sure I sent it.
After I did that, I ruminated on calling Mom to have a gab and fill her in about Gabe, but I thought it was way too soon for that, so I didn’t.
But I did text her with the news about Raye and Cap, to which she texted a GIF of Cam and Gloria from Modern Family wiggling.
God, Mom was the best.
I then considered grabbing my keys and heading to Nordstrom Rack to treat myself to a new outfit or something, but since I decided to take my breather, I figured that probably wasn’t a great idea.
Then I dropped my phone and bag on the kitchen bar and wandered into the bathroom.
I turned on the light and stood in front of the mirror.
And there, I stared at myself.
I had strawberry-blonde hair that was more on the strawberry side than the blonde. It was thick. It was long. It was natural. It took beachy waves like a champ.
It was my finest asset.
I had a cute nose. Decent lips. Downturned almond eyes that were kind of a boring gray. And decent skin.
I was Harlow’s height, five ten (all the other girls were taller than us, only slightly, but still…except Gemma, who was five five).
I was far from svelte, couldn’t even be called slender. I had booty, so it was good Gabe was into that. My tits were maybe a smidge over average.
Though, even I had to admit, I gave great gam.
I’d been so busy with Willow’s Good Stuff, and Kevin’s garbage, I hadn’t really had time to hit on my signature style, even if I loved clothes.
I wasn’t casual with a hint of boho-edge and the ability to class it up, like Raye. Or full boho like Luna. Or minimalist, like Jess. Or romantic and girlie, like Harlow. Or the cottagecore/girl-next-door thing Gemma had going on. Or the edgy gig that Joey was into.
And I certainly didn’t have time to create my own unique brand of chic, like Shanti’s edgy/earthy/cultural/glam/street style.
Half the time I didn’t know what I was putting on, except it was comfy, and I felt okay in it.
I mean, I was pretty, but I wasn’t a knockout.
I had an okay body, but I wasn’t a bombshell.
“What the fuck does he see in me?” I asked my reflection.
Oh boy, here we go, Dreamer moaned.
Good afternoon, you stupid bimbo, this is your actual logic speaking. Cut the crap and text him, or better yet just call him, Real Logic ordered.
Earlier, she was worried he was over it just because she thinks he thinks he bested the challenge, Dreamer told Real Logic.
I heard. I wish she’d let me take over the next time we talk to him. I’d verbally slap that bio dad of hers upside the head for the damage he’s done. What a douche, Real Logic replied.
Right? Dreamer agreed.
Oh God, Pessimism was gone, and now I had Real Logic, and I wasn’t sure that was much better.
What I was sure of was that I was being an idiot.
So I left the bathroom. Turned off the light. Hit my phone. Threw myself on my couch.
And I decided on, Do you know how to pick a lock without looking like you’re picking a lock? as my text to Gabe.
I was contemplating making a sandwich. Or doing it up with my own personal charcuterie board. Or allowing myself to be a little less responsible and treat myself to a new pair of flip-flops (or something) when my next text occurred to me.