Total pages in book: 147
Estimated words: 142801 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 714(@200wpm)___ 571(@250wpm)___ 476(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 142801 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 714(@200wpm)___ 571(@250wpm)___ 476(@300wpm)
“No.” My heart gives a painful little jig. “Turns out, Ivo put them in his drawer last Thursday. I wouldn’t have them at all if he—”
Yara holds up her index finger. “Question. Why aren’t you being sexed on a beach somewhere?”
The jittering stops, and my heart drops into the pit of my stomach. “Because sex and sand aren’t a good combination.”
“What?”
“Could it be you’re the only person in London who hasn’t seen my viral Pulse Tok video?”
My tone is less than joy filled. I thought being at work would give me something else to concentrate on, because Lord knows I’ve spent enough hours thinking about that stupid thing. At least thinking about it is all I have done, given I don’t have my phone. Not that I couldn’t have borrowed a colleague’s phone, because I’m pretty sure a couple of them have it saved to their favorites.
When I find out who loaded it, I’m going to give them an elephant-size dose of ketamine.
I should’ve stayed home—I should’ve turned around when I reached the coffee shop this morning. Courtesy of Riley talking Lori into loaning me a little cash, I decided to treat myself to a latte and a muffin at Coffee & Carbs. The barista had the radio on in the background, and I almost swallowed my tongue when I heard the presenters talking about my so-called wedding ceremony. They’d laughed over the Pulse Tok—worse, they’d asked listeners to call in if they knew the bride and groom. Then, when I reached the clinic, I found Rachel, the vet nurse, and the new receptionist huddled over one of their phones, watching it.
Revenge is sweet when I’m eating her Hobnob cookies.
Borrowed scrubs, borrowed money, and brittle dignity—I’ve had the day from hell. Even the few patients I’ve seen weren’t exactly run of the mill. From the seven-year-old kid who had a full tantrum when he argued his guinea pig wasn’t dead, just hibernating (rigor ain’t no hibernation), to the elderly couple who didn’t appreciate being told their puppy wasn’t suffering from a growth . . . unless they considered his newly discovered penis such a thing. It’s his. Let him lick it!
“What’s a Pulse Tok?” Yara asks with a frown.
“Seriously?” My first smile of the day is wide and comes with watery eyes. “You know I love you, work wife, but you are thirty going on old lady.”
“Already got the elastic pants,” she says, pinging the waistband of her pale-blue scrubs.
“Pass it over.” I point at the shape of her phone, obvious in her pocket. “Let’s get this over with.”
Opening the browser, I quickly type bride uses cheating—scarily, the rest auto fills—text messages as vows. I hit search, ignoring the sinking realization that people have actively looked for this video outside of the Pulse Tok platform.
Though the image of the back of my veil-covered head is still the first result, there are dozens of new offerings in the search list. Digital media companies, newspaper mentions, blogs. The list goes on.
I swallow over the burn in the back of my throat as I select the Pulse Tok video from the preview. As my voice fills the room, my anguished tone hits me like a shock of freezing water. “Deaf like an oldie too,” I say as I turn down the volume and hand back her phone. Then I try to turn off my brain. My attention. My anger. Everything.
I swear the clip gets longer each time, two minutes morphing into a lifetime as I watch my friend’s reactions flicker and fade across her face. Her arm drops heavily as the clip ends, and she flicks her phone off before it has a chance to reload and play again.
“What the actual fuck.” Pulling out the chair opposite, she drops into it, her dark eyes as wide as dinner plates. “Evie, oh my God.” She presses her hand to her mouth, and I hate the look she gives me as her gaze morphs into soft-eyed pity. “Was that . . .”
“Jen? Yep,” I answer, popping the p. She’d been to dinner with Yara and me a bunch of times. With me and Mitch too. It’s not even funny how, in retrospect, I see exactly what Jen and Bitchell were up to. They weren’t just affectionate in their contact. They were flaunting it, right under my nose.
“But she seemed so nice.”
“I guess Mitchell thought so,” I say, as numbness washes over me.
“What a pair of toxic ho bags! I wish I’d been there,” Yara suddenly growls, hand balling into a fist. “I don’t know who I would’ve punched first, but I definitely would’ve landed one right in that fucker’s smug face.”
“You thought he was smug? Actually, don’t answer that. He’s a total c-bomb.”
“You won’t turn into a pillar of salt for using the word.”
“Not when he deserves it.”