Total pages in book: 96
Estimated words: 91182 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 456(@200wpm)___ 365(@250wpm)___ 304(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 91182 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 456(@200wpm)___ 365(@250wpm)___ 304(@300wpm)
Olivia, feeling the need to change the subject, turns her attention on me. Great…“How’s Paul?”
“Who?” I ask before I can catch myself, forgetting I gave her a name the other night.
“Paul, the guy you went on a date with last week.”
I notice Killian sit up higher in his seat. His eyes widen marginally as he stares at me, like he’s just as interested to know my answer as Olivia is. Damn it!
Ignoring Killian’s stare, I focus my attention on Olivia when I answer. “I’m actually not seeing him anymore. It didn’t work out.”
Olivia frowns. “I’m sorry.”
“How’s Roman?” Killian asks. My eyes dart over to him, and the asshole is fucking smirking.
“Who?” Olivia asks, confused.
I glare at Killian, silently warning him to shut up. He’s doing this to mess with me, but he doesn’t understand this isn’t a fucking game. He’s not only messing with my life, but he’s messing with my friendship with Olivia. Instead of heeding my warning, his smirk turns into a full-blown grin as he says, “The guy I saw Giselle at the party with last night.” And he just had to fucking go there…
“You went on a date last night? When I asked you where you were, you said you were working.” I drag my gaze from Killian to look at Olivia. The hurt in her features is evident, and I feel like the world’s shittiest friend.
I consider how to word my answer before I speak, because up until this moment, I’ve technically never lied to Olivia, and I have no clue how to twist this so I’m not lying now. But before I can answer her, my name is called, and when I look over my shoulder, my heart drops at who is calling it. Christian.
Seriously, can this day get any worse?
He approaches the table, and I feel everyone’s eyes on us. “Hey, I thought it was you.” He grins nervously. Asshole should be nervous. The last time I saw him, he was balls-deep in a groupie in his hotel room, only days after he told me he loved me. We had gotten into a fight regarding a text I saw on his phone. I left upset and sat on the bench outside of his hotel room, trying to figure out how to handle what I saw. Not even an hour later, I made the decision to go up and talk to him about it. I think I was hoping he would convince me what I saw was a big misunderstanding. Only, when I got up to his room, he had already found another woman and was fucking her on the couch. That was a year ago, and I haven’t seen or spoken to him since.
“It’s me,” I say dryly, not bothering to smile back. He doesn’t deserve anything from me, let alone a fake emotion. He lost the right to anything regarding me the day he chose to throw our friendship and relationship out the window for some random groupie pussy.
Christian glances around the table before his eyes come back to me. “It’s your birthday.” It’s not a question—he’s just remembered.
“Yep…Happy Birthday to me,” I say.
Nobody says anything for a good thirty seconds, until Killian chooses to speak up, breaking the silence. “Wait a second. Aren’t you Christian Ortega, the lead singer for Down Coyote?”
“That would be me.” He nods with a small but genuine smile. Christian lives for the moments when people recognize him. His dreams came true. His band was signed and they rose to the top. It’s too bad the industry destroyed him. With the fame came the parties, and with the parties came the drugs. With him being high as often as he is—or at least was during that short time I was around him again—I don’t even know how he enjoys his success. The morning after I found him fucking the groupie, he called me as if nothing happened. He blamed the drugs, promised he would stop getting high. He swore he didn’t even remember having sex with her.
He called several times, begging me to forgive him, but I told him it was too late. The damage was done. I can forgive a lot of things, but I can’t forgive cheating. The fact is we never would’ve worked out anyway. Seven years apart changed us both. We’re no longer the naïve young teenagers we once were, and there’s no going back.
Sometimes when I think about the way Christian behaved, I wonder if that’s what happens to my mom. I know the drugs Christian was on aren’t the same as my mom’s, but I wonder if maybe she doesn’t remember what she does or if it’s possible she’s reacting a certain way because she’s on so many different drugs. If we just took her off of everything, maybe she would see things more clearly. I can’t be sure, though, and I’m too scared to find out.