Total pages in book: 81
Estimated words: 77005 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 385(@200wpm)___ 308(@250wpm)___ 257(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 77005 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 385(@200wpm)___ 308(@250wpm)___ 257(@300wpm)
He used every excuse there is and I went along with it because who wants to believe that the person they love is a manipulating bastard.
I hit speed dial.
“Jaime’s engaged.”
“Hold that thought.” I hear a muffled, “Stephen, I’m going to lunch. Put all my calls through to my cell…” A beat later, as I’m pacing the threshold of the barn, “Tell me every delicious detail. Is she a dirty hooker?”
“Worse. She’s one of those wholesome types.”
“He’s so predictable. God, I loathe him and his air of superiority.”
“I’m sending you a screenshot,” I tell her and send the picture over.
“I think I just threw up in my mouth. Well, you know what they say, one woman’s trash is another woman’s treasure.”
Jessica is not a fan of overtly sentimental or romantic displays of affection. In fact, much to her very large family’s chagrin, she’s often said she’s eloping if she ever gets married because she doesn’t want to share what should be a personal moment with a bunch of “booze and buffet freeloaders.” Her words not mine.
“It’ll never work,” she continues after seeing the screenshot.
“Why would you say that?” I ask, truly at a loss to understand how she can tell from this picture. “I mean other than your general anti-Jaime sentiments.”
“Because they’re too much alike,” she says with complete authority. Then a muttered, “Gross, they could be kissing cousins.”
Upon closer examination of the picture, I realize she’s right. Similar hair color. Similar tall athletic build. They even both have similar freckles covering their matching angular faces.
Huh. “True. But what does that have to do with anything?”
“Tita always says you can’t marry anyone who’s anything like you. If you’re short, you need to marry tall. Fat needs to marry skinny. An introvert needs to marry an extrovert. Otherwise, the kids come out messed up or something––missing a chromosome. It’s the only reason she let my dad marry my mom. She’s short, fat, and dark and he’s a tall, skinny, pasty Mexican.”
Laughter bursts out of me. “You can’t be serious?”
“Hello, you’ve seen my dad a million times. Have you ever seen him outside without a hat? He gets a sunburn on a rainy day. My brother calls him Powder.”
The laughter has me crying. At least she knocked me off my train of rage. “I’m talking about the other stuff.”
“Ask Tita next time you come over. She took one look at Christian and told me it would never work. She was right.”
“Christian was a selfish, self-serving prick. That’s why it didn’t work out.”
“Yeah, he also had dark brown hair and eyes the same exact shade as mine, a medium complexion, and a pointy nose. We coulda been related.”
I swallow more laughter. “You may be overthinking it.”
“You’re not upset he’s getting married, are you?”
“Not even a little. The dogs pissed me off. He never wanted to have pets with me.”
Or kids. He wasn’t sure about them either.
In hindsight, we really were a terrible match. But who’s paying close attention to the important stuff when you’re twenty-two and meet a six-foot-five, two-hundred-twenty-five pound fireman with a movie star smile?
The ugly truth is that by nature, I’m tragically monogamous. I like being in a relationship. Being part of a team really is my thing, and the bigger the team the better. My L.A. therapist had a field day with that one. She said it’s because I was often left alone when I was a kid. Whatever the reason, I won’t apologize for it. And I’m not about to compromise. I’ve always wanted a big family and although I didn’t hide it from Jaime, I didn’t fight for it either. And to think if it wasn’t for the assault, I’d be married to him now.
“What about those poor dogs? They have to live with that cold bastard until the divorce. The good news is his hairline is receding.”
“Silver lining?” I chuckle and lean against the door jam now that all the angry energy has worn off.
“Super shiny silver lining.”
Aidan steps out of the Airstream and glances around. What in the love of all that is righteous and holy is this?
He’s wearing Arena swim trunks, the kind the pro swimmers wear, work boots, and a wide-brimmed straw hat. That’s it.
Jesus save me.
Raising his arms in the air, he grabs one elbow and stretches to the side, then he does the other. How a man that is physically perfect in every way could make my stomach churn is a mystery. Or maybe it’s a skill. I mean, it certainly takes effort.
“By the way,” I say to my supposed best friend, “next time one of your harebrained schemes involves me, know that there will be consequences that include you shoveling a lot of goat shit.”
“He’s the sexiest movie star in the western world according to People Magazine. It can’t be that bad.”