Total pages in book: 66
Estimated words: 65225 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 326(@200wpm)___ 261(@250wpm)___ 217(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 65225 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 326(@200wpm)___ 261(@250wpm)___ 217(@300wpm)
“Are you going to call him?” I wondered.
She shrugged. “When I’m ready.”
I winked at her and headed to the coffee pot. “In that case, I’ll go ahead and grab some coffee, call Bindy, and then we can grab some breakfast before you start shopping. Ball is at six tonight at the winery a few counties over. It’ll take us about thirty to forty-five minutes to get there, so we need to make sure to leave accordingly.”
She rolled her eyes as she walked away, giving me a perfect view of her ass. “Nobody arrives at those types of things on time anyway. You’re supposed to be fashionably late, remember? And wouldn’t a late entrance draw more eyes than an early one? If we arrive late, maybe your crazy stalker ex will see, and possibly realize that she’s too late?”
I watched her walk up the length of the stairs before I answered her. “I guess we’ll find out, now won’t we?”
She looked at me over the railing before agreeing. “We will.”
CHAPTER 10
Them: You can’t just cut people off.
Me: snip, snippity, snip, snip motherfucker.
-Text from Banger to Easton
BANGER
My day had definitely gotten a whole lot more interesting when I met Bindy. Named after a cow, apparently.
At least that’s what she said when she introduced herself to me five seconds after I walked in the door to her salon.
“Hi, my name is Bindy. I was named after my mother’s cow. Not Bindy Sue Irwin, who was named after something fabulous.” She paused as she gestured for me to follow her into the main room of the salon, then even farther to take a seat in her chair. A chair that was chartreuse and gorgeous and shiny just like Bindy’s personality. “You can call me Bindy.”
My lips turned up into a confused smile as I said, “I don’t know whether to actually address you as that or not because you hate it. And I don’t want to offend the person about to do my hair.”
“Bindy is fine,” she answered. “And honestly? I’d just give you a trim and slick some Moroccan oil on it. God, you have gorgeous hair. Is this real?”
She reached forward and fingered it, checking out my roots, my tips, and then the texture by rubbing it between her fingers.
“It’s real,” I confirmed. “I thought about dying it a few times when I was in high school, but ultimately chose not to when I realized how expensive the upkeep would’ve been. Now I just get it trimmed up every six months or so when I’m feeling frisky.”
And when I have an extra twenty dollars to spare when I’m not paying my ‘loans’ off.
“I would start upping that to every six weeks if you can hack it,” she said as she pulled away. “We had sex,” she said. “Did he tell you that?”
“We’re not together, so honestly, it doesn’t really matter if you had sex or not.” I hid the irrational irritation knowing that bit of knowledge, and instead focused on her question. “But yes, he told me. I didn’t want him to throw me under the bus without my eyes being wide open,” I admitted.
She grinned at me through her mirror. “He’s a sweet guy, but I think that he was a little nervous seeing as I’d never had sex with a man before. Not to mention I popped his cherry. So…”
My mouth fell open. “You did what?”
Her eyes focused on mine. “I thought he told you we had sex.”
“He did,” I confirmed. “He didn’t, however, tell me that you popped his cherry.”
She scrunched up her nose, then separated my hair into two sections before clipping the top section to my head.
“Well, that’s kind of why we did it. We were both drunk. I’d never had sex with a man before. He’d never had sex, period. And we thought it would be a great idea to do it with each other. Turns out, I think he needed a little work, because he only cemented the fact that I was gay.” She snickered.
I clapped my hand over my mouth to keep the laughter from bursting free. “Are you jerking my chain? Because that man doesn’t look like he’d be bad at anything. Not anything. He’s good at wearing a pair of sweatpants. At pouring cereal into a bowl and then milk, while also not spilling a single thing. Hell, he can even clean up after himself, and he likes my pet skunk. He seriously can’t be bad at sex.”
“He wasn’t ‘bad’ per se. But he wasn’t good either. I could tell that he was just doing it to get it done, and so was I…” she hesitated. “I did O, though, if you know what I mean.”
I did know what she meant.
But that still didn’t negate the fact that, in the grand scheme of it all, Easton didn’t belong to me.