Total pages in book: 85
Estimated words: 81333 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 407(@200wpm)___ 325(@250wpm)___ 271(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 81333 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 407(@200wpm)___ 325(@250wpm)___ 271(@300wpm)
My heart flutters in my chest, even though I try to mentally shoot it down. “Where did you see him?”
“At Finn’s. He was really cute about it, Layla. He asked how you were and if you got your work done. And for what it’s worth, he knows you didn’t need to get any work done.”
“Fuck him.”
“You already did that.”
Sighing, I drop my purse back on the sofa. “It was amazing. I won’t lie. But I mean it too when I say I wish I hadn’t done it.”
“Spreader’s remorse?”
“What the hell is that?” I laugh.
“You have remorse you spread your legs. It is what it sounds like,” she says matter-of-factly. “Granted, most women have it because they wake up and the guy is married or not nearly as good-looking as he was with a couple of shots in ya, not because he’s the catch every woman wants to make.”
“He’s the catch you make right before you get blindsided.”
“Nice football analogy!”
“Whatever,” I sigh. “Call it whatever lame term you want, but I do wish I hadn’t done it.” I walk to the window and look down at the traffic. My emotions are still a little bruised and hearing him ask about me only feels like another knock right where it hurts. “I think it was too soon after Callum.”
“What makes you say that?”
“I don’t know. I’ve had one-night stands before. You know that.”
“Remember the singer from the karaoke bar on the south side?” she giggles.
“Worst one-night stand ever,” we say in unison before falling into a fit of giggles at the guy who asked me to fetch him a toothbrush the next morning.
“I have no problem with detachment,” I point out. “I can get on for the sake of getting off, but I have such a weak spot for athletes and Branch is . . .”
“The best of the best?” she snickers.
“So cheesy,” I laugh. “But, yes, more or less. He’s off hanging out with models and I’m in my pajamas until noon eating Nutella off a spoon. It makes me feel sad and I want my girl power back.”
“I hear you. Your feels are fair.”
“Ooohhh,” I tease. “Are you validating my stupid feelings?”
“I suppose I am,” she grins. “But I’m still standing firm on wide receivers and tight ends being okay for future reference.”
“Nope.”
She looks scared to ask why I responded so quickly, so firmly to her stance. Taking a couple of steps back, doing this back-and-forth thing with her torso, she smacks her lips together. “Nope,” she reiterates.
“I’m done with football players. You and Finn are right,” I say, feeling the bitterness of the words as they launch into the world. “It’s an ugly, predictable cycle and I’m a moron for signing up for this self-inflicted abuse. I need to find a cute accountant and an aloe vera plant and some cooking magazines and start over again fresh.”
“I veto the accountant and think you should go more blue-collar because they’re good with their hands, but I’ll buy you your first aloe vera plant. Speaking of gifts, are you going to Tiffany’s party?”
A vague memory of being asked to attend a friend’s dirty thirty party tickles my brain. “Do I have to?”
“No, but you should,” she says. “It’ll be fun. It’s Tiffany, for crying out loud. God knows what she’s set up.”
“Fine,” I huff. “They’ll probably have good appetizers there.”
“What is it with you and food?” she laughs.
“I’m starving from doing posts about picnics and romantic getaways and sensual foods. You’ll never believe what I read that you can do with grapes.”
“I don’t even want to know.”
“Oh, but you do, but you have to read it yourself. Look it up sometime.”
Lifting my purse back on my shoulder, I wince. One hand shoots to the back of my neck as I hold pressure on the spot that aches so bad it throbs.
“What’s wrong?” she asks.
“Spreader’s remorse.”
“Did that sexy bastard give you a sex injury?”
“It was a parting present. Get it?” I joke, wincing again as another shot of pain shoots down my back. “Damn it. It hurts.”
She watches me, gauging how much discomfort I must really be in. “I have an appointment tomorrow with my acupuncturist. Want to take it?”
“No.”
“She’s really good. I’ve seen her for years and she’s terrible to get into. Just take my appointment. You can’t keep living with the pain and I know you aren’t seeing a doctor.”
Shrugging, I dig through my purse for my over-the-counter pain medicine as Poppy’s fingers start flying across her phone.
“There,” she says. “I told Bai you’d be there instead of me.”
“Thanks.” I pop two pills without a drink. “Now can we go get a hot ham and cheese?”
“Lead the way,” she laughs, following me out the door.
Branch
Sweat drips into my eyes causing my vision to blur as I hunch over, hands on my knees, and pant.