Total pages in book: 82
Estimated words: 76136 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 381(@200wpm)___ 305(@250wpm)___ 254(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 76136 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 381(@200wpm)___ 305(@250wpm)___ 254(@300wpm)
“You got flowers?” Clarabella asks when she walks in and goes to sit down calmly.
“Yes,” I say, pointing at them. “And something in there,” I tell her as she picks up the white box and shakes it side to side.
“It could be a bomb,” Presley teases, chuckling. “You know what it isn’t?” She waits for us to say something. “His dick.”
“Definitely not his dick,” Shelby declares and I just gawk at her. “I’ve seen him, he has to be packing to walk with all that swagger.” I just roll my eyes because Matthew Petrov owns his swagger and he is, in fact, packing below the belt.
“Well, are we going to open it or are we going to play guessing games all day?” Clarabella asks as she hands me the box.
“It’s probably something to irritate the fuck out of me.” I grab the box and undo the satin bow on top before flipping the top of the box open and moving the white tissue paper to the side. “Oh my God,” I say, looking down at the white shirt.
“Is that a hockey jersey?” Clarabella asks, trying to roll her lips so she doesn’t burst out laughing.
“Unfortunately,” I confirm, putting the box down and taking out the shirt. I don’t have to turn it over to see that it has his name on the back.
“What is going on?” Presley looks at me, then back at the shirt and then to the flowers.
“Nothing,” I deflect, shoving the jersey back into the box. “Less than nothing. He sent me flowers and tickets to the game, and apparently that.”
“Code purple!” Shelby shouts.
“We are all here,” Clarabella states, then turns to me. “Are you going to wear this?”
“Not a chance in fucking hell!” I shout. “I’m not even going to the game.”
“Oh, here we go,” Clarabella starts, “you are going to go to the game tonight.”
I stare at her, my eyebrows pinching together. “Oh, no, I’m not.” I shake my head at the same time.
“Just don’t drink any booze because you might end up having sex with him,” Shelby advises. “I drank on my fake honeymoon, and well, we had sex. A lot.”
“I drank when I ran away from my wedding,” Clarabella adds. “Definitely had sex that night.”
I look over at Presley, who just laughs. “I had sex all the time, there was no need to drink.”
“You were drunk the first time you asked him to take your virginity,” Clarabella reminds her.
“Oh, yeah,” Presley remembers, “definitely don’t drink.”
“I am not going, so that is a nonissue,” I tell all of them.
“If you don’t go, he’ll know he got to you,” Shelby says, folding her arms over her chest.
“If I go, he wins,” I counter.
“Unless you go and make him eat his heart out,” Clarabella announces.
“I don’t want to go.” The words come out of my mouth before my head says, I want to go.
“We spoke last night.” I fill them in on the small details I’m sure they are going to freak out about, and the minute I say the words, they all gasp. I hold my hand up to stop them from talking. “It’s over. He said his piece. I said mine, and we are moving on.” I look at the three of them and they all burst out laughing. “What?”
“He’s been here four times since he broke up with his girlfriend.” Shelby tilts her head to the side.
“Actually, his fiancée.” I point at her. “He was engaged less than a week ago, and now he wants to come up all in my space and uproot my life?” I shout, shaking my head. “No fucking way. Fuck that.”
“You’re going,” Clarabella states, “if only to tell him you don’t need him.”
“I just told him I don’t need him.” I point behind me to the window. “So I don’t have to go.”
“That was a mating dance if I ever saw one,” Clarabella declares. “He looked like he was going to fuck you against the door, with or without us looking out the window.”
“Mating dance?” I say, not sure I heard her right. “I was literally telling him how much I hated him.”
“That just gets it going even more.” Presley laughs. “I used to tell Bennett at least once a day how we weren’t a couple.”
“But everyone knew that you were,” Shelby remarks. “The only one you were fooling was yourself.”
“Ladies,” I say softly, “I am not going.”
“You have to,” Shelby says, and she is usually the voice of reason between the three of them.
“I don’t have anyone to go with,” I finally say, “and I’m not going to a hockey game by myself.”
Clarabella holds her finger in the air before walking over to the door. She sticks her head out of the door. “Addison,” she calls the new receptionist who started working here this week. With the expanding business, we needed to hire someone to do most of the paperwork and return phone calls.