Total pages in book: 89
Estimated words: 81745 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 409(@200wpm)___ 327(@250wpm)___ 272(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 81745 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 409(@200wpm)___ 327(@250wpm)___ 272(@300wpm)
I laugh. “That is not how I worded it at all.”
“It is pretty much exactly what it is.” She laughs. “You can sugarcoat it all you want. They are called puck bunnies, and they are everywhere.”
“I know what they are called. I was telling you that I don’t do that anymore.” I stand at the island, waiting for the microwave to finish my food.
“But you did?” she counters.
“Everyone does,” I tell her, taking the plate out of the microwave and going over to the stool to eat. “When you have all these girls throwing themselves at you as a rookie, you do it.”
“So you are trying to tell me that you only did that when you were a rookie,” she says. “I’m calling bullshit right now.”
“Oh, I’ve had them. I’m saying that everyone does it. But after a while, it’s just not that hot,” I say, chewing chicken. “It’s empty, and well, it sucks.”
“Hold on a second,” she says, and I can see her clearly in my mind as she sits up. “Are you telling me that you don’t like meaningless sex?”
“You are the worst person to have a conversation with.” I laugh while I eat. “You take one thing and spin it around. I like sex,” I tell her. “Just like you like sex.” I wait for her to answer or say something, but she doesn’t. “I am just over the one night, never see you again sex.”
“I live for those,” she says. “I don’t think I ever had sex with feelings before.”
“Oh, come on, Layla. Are you saying you’ve never been in a relationship?” The thought is making my stomach sick.
“I have been, but I don’t know, I think it’s just better without strings,” she says, her voice going low. “Anyway, I would love to dive more into this conversation, Dr. Phil, but I have to drive Grandma back home. She has Aquagym, and she can’t miss it.”
“I’ll call you when I get back, but don’t make any plans for next Sunday,” I tell her, and she hangs up without answering me.
I text her now.
Me: I’m not messing around. You owe me a date next Sunday, and either you can come willingly or I can carry you.
I wait a minute to see if she is going to answer, and when I know she isn’t, I follow up the text.
Me: Actually, come to think of it, I would love to carry you. Bottom line—I win, you lose.
I put the phone down and see the three dots come up and then disappear and then come up again, and finally, I see the text come through.
Layla: Go away. I’m about to block you.
Shaking my head, I finish my food. Once I clean up after myself, I get into the shower and slowly pack my bag for the flight the next day. I’m about to head to bed when I pick up my phone and snap a picture of myself lying on the couch shirtless.
Me: This could have been all yours yesterday.
I press send, wondering if she really is going to block me. Either way, I know where she lives now, so it doesn’t matter.
My phone pings two minutes later, and I see it’s from Layla. I smile so big it hurts my face until I see the picture.
It’s of Nancy naked again on her bed with the caption.
Layla: This could have been all yours yesterday.
Chapter 11
Layla
“Where the hell is my cell phone?” I ask myself as I get off the couch and flip the cushions everywhere. “I swear I just had it.” I put the cushions back and then walk back over to my purse at the front door. I turn on the hall light and look around to make sure that I didn’t miss it, but after emptying half my purse, it’s not in there either.
Going to the kitchen, I pick up the cordless phone and dial the number. My cell rings and then goes to voice mail right away. “Great,” I say, hanging up the phone. Walking into my bedroom, I don’t see it on the white duvet, and the bed is made since Grandma Nancy stayed over. She makes her bed every single day, so since she did it, I didn’t have to. “Shit.” I slap my head and walk over to the kitchen, picking the phone back up and calling Grandma Nancy.
“Hello.” She answers right away.
“Grandma, did I forget my phone there?” I ask, closing my eyes and hoping like fuck she says yes.
“Yes,” she says. “It died right after I sent a picture.”
“Wait, what?” I ask, confused.
“Well, hotcakes sent a picture showing me what was under the suit,” she says, and I run to get my iPad beside my bed. “And he taunted me. So I had to show him what he missed out on. Again,” she says the last word, and I pull up the chat chain on my iPad.