Total pages in book: 71
Estimated words: 66767 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 334(@200wpm)___ 267(@250wpm)___ 223(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 66767 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 334(@200wpm)___ 267(@250wpm)___ 223(@300wpm)
“Good,” she shoots back, tipping her chin back to glare up into my face. “I hope you were so supremely irritated you had Resting Grouch Face for a week. And I have kissed other men since I kissed you, by the way. I made it my business to kiss every cute British guy on holiday I could find and some French ones too, even though my French is really rusty.”
Before I can reply, she slams out of the bathroom and storms down the hall.
I stick my head out, calling, “Wren Baxter, come back here and finish this conversation.”
“It’s finished,” she tosses over her shoulder. “And I’ve decided to drive myself to the conference so you can leave whenever you want. Maybe after you’ve had a few cups of coffee and read the paper!”
“I’ve already had two!” I shout, summoning a stream of garbage disposal barking from Keanu. He appears in the hall a second later, jogging along in his crooked rat dog way, his hairless possum tail held high in alarm.
“I’m fine,” I grumble at him as I duck back into the bathroom. He follows me, circling my feet as I finish wiping the scratch marks and pull on a clean shirt without an undershirt underneath.
It feels wrong against my bare skin, making me even crankier than usual. And then Keanu lifts a leg and pees on my shoes, with my feet still in them, and I explode. “No!” I boom at the creature. “Do not pee there! Pee outdoors and outdoors only!”
Keanu goes stock still, staring up at me with bulbous eyes even larger than normal before he emits another goat wail and rolls onto his back, baring his belly in a show of submission. His ears are back, his hairless tail is tucked, and as I reach down to rub his tummy, he whimpers, making me feel like a sad sack of shit all over again.
“I’m sorry,” I murmur to the quivering beast. “Clearly, I don’t know how to behave with dogs or women.”
“You’re doing fine,” Starling says from the doorway. “It’s frustrating when dogs pee where they shouldn’t. I’ll work on that with Keanu while you’re gone.” She glances down at my feet. “And don’t worry about the bathmat. I’ll throw it in to wash.”
“Thank you,” I say. “And sorry for making the morning so…dramatic.”
“You didn’t,” she says, kindly. “But just a word to the wise. Sometimes it doesn’t matter why you did what you did, as long as you understand it was the wrong thing to do and promise not to do it again. I wasn’t trying to eavesdrop, but you guys were pretty loud there at the end.”
I exhale. “Right. Sorry about that, too. I…I honestly don’t know why I left. I mean, what I told Wren was true. But there may have been something else, too. Something underneath that something.”
Starling nods. “There usually is. At least that’s what they said in my Marketing Psychology class in college. People have conscious needs and fears, but they also have unconscious ones. Sometimes those are the most powerful. The less we bring something into the light, the stronger it gets.” She wrinkles her nose. “Wren already left, by the way. I tried to remind her that saving gas and carpooling is important, but she was too mad.”
I sigh. “Understandable. Hopefully, I can make it up to her at the conference.”
“Just be honest, but kind,” Starling says. “I know it sounds trite, but it’s the best advice my mom ever gave me.”
It’s very good advice. I’ve always excelled at being honest. The kind part, however, could probably use some improvement. I’ve mastered kindness in a clinical setting, but in real life things are harder. More complicated.
But maybe they don’t have to be.
As I swap out my shoes and socks beside the truck, I try to imagine what a kinder, gentler Barrett would say to a woman he wishes he hadn’t disappointed so badly.
Chapter Eleven
WREN
I bolt from the house so quickly that I don’t realize I look like a frisky minx who’s been ravaged in her bathroom until I’m nearly out of town, when a quick glance in the rearview mirror reveals my mascara is smudged halfway down my face, and my hair is fuzzy all over.
Cursing Barrett and myself and his stupidly amazing tongue, I turn around and head to my gym to get tidied up.
I’m sure Barrett has left my place by now, but I don’t want to risk running into Starling. She thinks I’m overreacting; I could see it on her face as I gave her a quick hug goodbye and stormed out the front door alone. But she doesn’t understand what it felt like to spend that long night alone with no idea why Barrett had bailed.
And his “explanation” was, to use his favorite turn of phrase, absolutely ridiculous.