Total pages in book: 88
Estimated words: 83818 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 419(@200wpm)___ 335(@250wpm)___ 279(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 83818 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 419(@200wpm)___ 335(@250wpm)___ 279(@300wpm)
"I don't give a shit if you like me," he says, but when he looks away, my intuition snaps into place. I stifle a smile. Unfortunately for him, I know a lie when I hear one, and he just lied to me.
"Why do you have that self-satisfied smug look on your face?" he says, shaking his head. Wouldn’t he like to know?
"Oh, it's nothing," I say, scratching the little baby's ears.
"Jesus," he mutters under his breath and stomps off to the bathroom, mumbling a stream of grumpy Russian.
The puppy turns to me and nestles his sweet head into my arm. He sighs contentedly as if he wants to fall asleep. This little one has two modes—on and off. I nuzzle him and swallow hard, my eyes blurry. I love him already.
I want to tell somebody. A sister, a friend. But I have neither. My heart hurts.
The puppy whimpers at me and laps at my face, but this time, he’s licking away tears. I bury my face in his fur and allow myself this momentary pleasure. I have someone to love. Someone to love me.
Why did he get me a dog?
I remember telling him last night… I liked farmers’ markets, puppies, ocean views, and sex.
He comes out of the bathroom, already dressed, his hair slicked back and put together. "We have a wedding to plan. Someone's gonna watch this dog. And we're gonna get shit done. Got it?"
“Well, that’s easy for you to say. I have nothing to wear."
There's another knock at the door.
This time, he doesn't look surprised.
"That's Isabella. She got in last night, and she's brought clothes for you." My heart stops in my chest. I am naked in Ollie's bed, and I do not want to see my ex-best friend. Plus, I'm pissed at her. To think that she actually believed I would betray her…
I clutch the puppy in a blanket to my chest while Ollie opens the door. It's not just Isabella, but Isabella and, shocker, her husband Lev beside her. They step into the room.
She gives me a long, withering glance. There was a time when she would've winked at me or done some type of conspiratorial whisper so that I would know she knew I had spent the night with Ollie. Now, I feel like she's judging me like I'm some kind of a whore, and it makes me feel sick to my stomach.
"You got her a dog?" Isabella says with a frown to Ollie. I want to shake her. This is the girl I grew up with, who shared secrets and hopes, who taught me how to skip rocks and pick a lock. This was my best friend, closer to me than any sister, the woman I looked to when the chips were down, who came to me when she needed help. I was the one who taught her how to read her brother and know he was lying, how to make herself small and hold her breath when she needed to hide.
I’ve lived two lives; my first was glued to Isabella’s side… and now she’s acting as if she doesn’t even know me.
I don’t speak and let her talk to Ollie. It doesn’t matter. How could it? I’m nothing to her.
“It’s a guard dog,” Ollie retorts.
“A guard dog? I can fit in my handbag!” Isabella snaps at him.
Ollie growls, and Lev steps into the room, holding his hands up to her.
"If he wants to get her a guard dog, he can get her a guard dog. Leave it."
"He was supposed to be a wedding present. Don’t get any ideas. This dog is going to grow up to be the most vicious dog you've ever met."
“Sure,” Isabella says, placing a large bag down by the bed. "I’ll believe it when I see it." She hands me the bag of clothes. “Here. These are for you. I don’t wear them anymore. They should fit you, but may be a bit… tight,” she says, her tone cold and emotionless.
Oh, the bitch, making an inside dig at my weight. I’m curvier than she is, and she can fuck right off. I want to throw the bag of clothes right back at her. I don't want her fucking hand-me-downs, but most of all, I don't want her disdain. I want to shake her. I'm not a betrayer. I'm not who they think I am. But time will prove this to be true. I have to remember that.
When she places her hand on her abdomen and her face contorts in pain, I forget why I’m mad at her. My heart rate spikes. Lev is beside her instantly, his hand on her back, his other hand on her shoulder.
"What's the matter?" Ollie says.
"Just a contraction," Isabella says. "Whatever. It happens sometimes to women."
“You’ve got months left,” he says, frowning.
“Right. It doesn’t mean labor; it just happens, alright?”