Total pages in book: 102
Estimated words: 97418 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 487(@200wpm)___ 390(@250wpm)___ 325(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 97418 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 487(@200wpm)___ 390(@250wpm)___ 325(@300wpm)
“God, really? You have no idea how fucking lucky you are.”
She tosses my latest Vogue magazine onto the coffee table. It lands with a thud, and I grab my coffee, which is easy to tell apart since Cindy’s has pink lipstick on hers.
“What are you talking about?” I take a grateful sip.
She brushes her hands on her skirt. “You’re beautiful, and you don’t even try.” She squints her big blue eyes and knits her brows like she’s only now discovered this. With a shrug, she continues. “Some of us have to put a little effort into our appearance.” She waves her hand “Not wake up, take a five-minute shower, and walk out the door in dark clothes still looking hot and fresh.”
I look at her for a second. She’s right in that she’s dressed up, wearing a cute pink halter with a floral miniskirt and high-heeled wedge sandals. Her blond hair is piled on top of her head and her makeup is perfect.
“I’m hardly beautiful.” I grab a huge pair of black Chanel sunglasses along with my bag and keys.
“Ready?”
She sighs and shakes her head as if I’m the one who’s delusional. “You’re so stubborn.”
As she grabs her cute little clutch, I wonder how women do that. There’s so much stuff I need with me on a daily basis. How do they get by with such tiny purses?
I almost ask, but I don’t want to hear more about fashion and how I need some. I have my own fashion. For instance, I love Vogue. It represents a life I’ll never have, and yet I can admire the clothes even though I’d never wear them—half of the outfits in that magazine are crazy, in price and in style.
“Are you okay?”
I blink at her as she stares at me. “I’m tired.” That’s my typical excuse for zoning off on her. “I’ll drive.”
Heading toward my Prius, which is on its last battery, I consider how I’ll to have to bite the bullet soon and get a new car. Still, I’m driving her until she dies.
“Yeah… No. I’m parked over here. I’m not riding in that thing.” She reaches for my arm as she pulls me to the curb and her silver Honda.
It’s hot out. The sun is beating down already and it’s not yet eleven, which requires we go from air conditioner to air conditioner. So, I’d love to argue, but realistically it’s too hot for the Prius to keep us cool.
Sipping my somewhat warm coffee, I look out the window as Cindy takes off like a speed racer.
She reaches over and turns up her K-pop. I roll my eyes. She loves it. Whenever we’re together, she’s always blasting it.
Her bright pink long nails tap the steering wheel and she starts to sing.
It’s loud and not in a good way. Stifling a laugh, I turn and look out the window. She’s ridiculous.
At least she’s enjoying herself and not trying to make idle chitchat. After another sip of the bitter coffee, I wish we could stop and get a fresh one. Swallowing, I lean my head back.
She takes the streets rather than the freeway. I would have gotten on the freeway since traffic on Ventura can be a bitch, but I’m not driving so who cares. And Dolly’s Doll Shop is not far.
“So, Charlize?”
I raise an eyebrow as she briefly glances at me and returns her eyes to the road. “After we get our hair done, we need to go out.”
I give her the “you’re starting to bug me” stare and say, “Did you bring the scones?”
She turns into the back parking lot of the hair salon. “Um, I think I left them on your kitchen island.”
I watch fascinated as she slams the car in park and grabs her purse all at the same time.
“Seriously?”
“Yes, listen… we’re going out.” We exit and I pretend I didn’t hear her.
“At least to get something to eat. We could play pool…” She kind of sings the last part. She knows I love to play pool, and I’m fantastic at it. I grew up with a pool table in the house.
I’m so good I kind of hustled in college when I didn’t want to ask my parents for money.
“Let’s just get our hair done.”
The back door opens and a tall, thin, disarmingly attractive guy with a cigarette in his mouth holds the door open. He’s dressed all in black with tattoos on both arms that crawl up his neck.
“Hey.” He nods as we enter.
“Hey Doug.” Cindy winks at him. He grins as we pass.
The salon is beyond adorable, all whites, pinks, and turquoise and smelling of citrus and flowers. A big white couch is at the front with a huge window facing the street.
“Hey girl.” A stunning, petite, dark-haired girl with pale skin and big red lips air kisses Cindy as she continues to blow dry the woman in her chair. She’s super tiny and her body makes me want to cry.