Total pages in book: 99
Estimated words: 93806 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 469(@200wpm)___ 375(@250wpm)___ 313(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 93806 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 469(@200wpm)___ 375(@250wpm)___ 313(@300wpm)
The next stop comes, and I work my way through the crowd and up to street level, choosing to walk the five blocks back to my apartment. This is the second time this week I’ve had to backtrack like this. Sometimes I think I should give up the subway altogether and try the bus. It seems more natural for a person with my lack of aggression. I left my feistier side with Jim six months earlier. I still haven’t mastered this new me yet.
A long bath eases some of the tension in my shoulders, but my mind is still left to flounder. The black dress I slip on is always flattering but allows me to blend into the background. Rachel can garner all the attention. It makes it easier since I’m not in a dating mode at this point in my life.
I stock my clutch and notice the invitation lying on the counter where I dumped my bag out when I got home. I pick it up, contemplating once again if I’m ready to read it. It will upset me, so I choose to walk away, leaving all the memories that come with it behind for the night.
Waving at me with enthusiasm when I walk in, Rachel looks like her confidence is soaring as she gets some much-desired attention at the swanky bar she’s chosen to prowl tonight. She introduces me to the two guys she just met, Bob and John, who seem to be enamored by her charms. Their names make me question if they’re using aliases tonight. Just like the guys themselves, they are generic.
I’m welcomed, and John even rushes to the bar to get me a drink. When he returns, he hands me a gimlet, and I graciously accept, though it’s not a cocktail I normally drink.
I need this night more than I let on to Rachel. I can’t be depressed anymore. It’s too . . . depressing. I will enjoy tonight.
After talking about himself and his law firm for a few minutes, John winks at me, then leans over. “You want to get out of here?”
Is he for real? Shocked by his arrogance, the answer is easy. “No. I just met you!”
He starts backtracking. “Just one drink back at my place. You know, and see where it goes from there.” He touches my hair, looking at it between his fingers. “I’ve always heard redheads were fun.”
Is that a perverted challenge of some sort? I don’t smile. His rudeness doesn’t deserve my niceties. I smack his hand away before backing up. “Well, you won’t be finding out with me tonight.”
I turn to walk away, giving Rachel a get-rid-of-them look before I head to the bathroom.
“You all right, Charlie?” Rachel asks.
“Just gonna powder my nose.” I let my tone indicate how I’m feeling.
I’ve learned there are a lot of misconceptions about my fellow crimson companions and me. Most men are predictable and make unwarranted assumptions. I fall into a stereotype of fiery-tempered sexpots. I’m passionate about my work and the ones I care about, but hot-tempered? No.
The other common belief is that we reds sleep around. I’m not easy, despite what people assume based on my follicles. My natural hair color is rare, so it draws men in like a moth to a flame. But I often see the disappointment in their eyes when they discover I’m more what is considered the girl-next-door type than a vixen. At least it’s a good way to weed out the jerks like the one tonight.
Escaping, I make my way through the barflies flocking to this club’s light.
One thing I’ve learned living in Manhattan is that a man who takes you home to do the deed earlier in the night has no intention of staying home. He’ll be right back on the prowl before midnight. I don’t mind a one-night stand if needed. I had one once, although it turned into a relationship, so I guess it doesn’t count. I do mind, however, being one of several for a guy who gets greedy and abuses his good looks. At twenty-five, I’ve already learned it’s hard to find a meaningful relationship in this city. Most are too self-centered to make the effort, and the others . . . well, are like me, just not that into the hunt.
I check my lipstick in the bathroom mirror before squeezing past a gaggle of girls celebrating a pending marriage. I don’t think about what could have been my life. I try to convince myself I should feel lucky I found out the bad stuff when I did—before the vows.
Rachel waves at me. A different man is standing with her at the bar. I’m not surprised she’s receiving so much attention; she’s gorgeous with her long, dark, wavy hair, brown eyes, and Italian heritage.
Not that I’m bad looking or anything like that. I receive my fair share of attention. It’s just more of an acceptance that I’m not the typical sexy type, not like Rachel. I’m average height for a woman, but heels put me right at five-six. My body isn’t athletic, but I exercise, so I’m fit . . . enough.