Total pages in book: 101
Estimated words: 97548 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 488(@200wpm)___ 390(@250wpm)___ 325(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 97548 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 488(@200wpm)___ 390(@250wpm)___ 325(@300wpm)
Subject: RE: RE: RE: RE: From Molly
The angry one? Try the ONLY one. I don’t have time to respond to your idiotic comments. - C
Sent from my Android Smartphone
TO: Cecelia Carter
DATE: September 13, 2014 at 8:12:18 PM CST
FROM: Matthew Wakefield
Subject: You are angry
I respectfully disagree, since you DO keep responding. I don’t blame you; none of the ladies can stay away.
MSW
Sent from my iPhone.
Okay.
Now I’m freaking pissed (This is a lie. I was pissed before).
I set my phone down on our scuffed up Formica kitchen counter and walk away, determined to stifle the urge to really give him a piece of my mind.
Counting from one to ten (twice), I walk into the hall and stand with my hands on my hips, thinking and surveying the apartment. I look around, trying to come up with something to do that will keep my mind and hands off that damn cell phone - and am so desperate I decide the large pile of laundry spilling out of our tiny hall closet could use some attention.
I tell myself I’ll start a load of towels.
Yes, that’s what I’ll do: start a load of towels…
I’m not going to think about it, I’m not going to think about it…
Seven minutes of going through the pretense of sorting light and dark colors, I cannot stand it anymore.
I walk back into the kitchen and snatch up my phone.
Yay me, seven whole minutes!
Aren’t you impressed?
I know what you’re thinking – let me tick them off for you: I have no willpower. He’s just a guy. He’s a jerk. He doesn’t deserve any more attention. I’m better than this… The list could go on and on.
Believe me, I’m disappointed enough in myself for both of us. What a fortress of will power I turned out to be. Roger would be so disappointed in me.
But guess what? Right now I couldn’t care less.
Because Matthew Wakefield is so full of himself, I simply do not have it inside myself to resist the urge to knock him down a peg.
And so…
TO: Matthew Wakefield
DATE: September 13, 2014 at 8:19:31 PM CST
FROM: Cecelia Carter
Subject: You are a jerk.
Oh, I’m SOOOO sure all the girls are beating down the door to your den of sin (I hope you’re picking up on the sarcasm here). I will let Molly know I got ahold of you, and you can go fornicate the rest of your evening away. No need to reply. - C
Sent from my Android Smartphone
Okay.
I admit. The email sounds catty, bitter, and perhaps I should have waited a little longer than seven minutes before I sent it.
Sigh. Too late now, I guess…
TO: Cecelia Carter
DATE: September 13, 2014 at 8:22:07 PM CST
FROM: Matthew Wakefield
Subject: Fornicate?
Den of sin? Wow. I LIKE THAT!!! But you’re giving me WAY too much credit. And why would I go fornicate when this is so much more fun? Question: are you this big a bitch to everyone, or is this just my lucky night? PS: I bet a hundred dollars you reply to this message. And that you’re wearing sweat pants.
MSW
Sent from my iPhone.
I sit on the couch with my mouth hanging open, and look down at my gray sweat pants. What a dick! Of all the nerve! Excuse me, but I happen to have a great ass thank you very much, and do not need to flaunt it in low rise jeans every hour of the damn day.
I huff loudly.
Then I huff again, stalking into my bedroom and flouncing onto my bed, bouncing up-and-down because the mattress is such a cheap piece of crap.
I’m so irritated my hands are actually shaking. Suddenly, I begin to feel like the lunatic he accused me of being. I need to get a grip here, and fight the power because the bastard knows I’m going to respond to his email.
Actually, he knows it and I know it.
I hit REPLY, change the subject line, giggling out loud at my own wittiness, and wondering if he’ll notice.
TO: Matthew Wakefield
DATE: September 13, 2014 at 8:35:14 PM CST
FROM: Cecelia Carter
Subject: YOU HAVE A STUPID EMAIL ADDRESS
I am not a bitch. And for the record, I am NOT wearing sweat pants. - C
Sent from my Android Smartphone
Am I going to hell for being such a liar?
I look down at my sweat pants again, and at least have the decency to blush. Cringing, I delete the entire message and send this instead:
I am NOT a bitch. And I guess since I replied to your damn message this means I owe you a hundred bucks. So... Good luck collecting.
- C
CHAPTER 2
MATTHEW
“How did I get into her pants? Well that’s an easy one. I whispered the three words every chick wants to hear: ‘I play hockey.’
– Jay Mendelson, teammate.
A few thoughts occur to me as my email notification goes off for the sixth time in an hour: