Total pages in book: 110
Estimated words: 105679 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 528(@200wpm)___ 423(@250wpm)___ 352(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 105679 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 528(@200wpm)___ 423(@250wpm)___ 352(@300wpm)
“What do you want me to know about the wedding?” I ask, eager to get down to business. “I’d love to do a preview for my…newsletter and my social.” I don’t even want to tell them my handle. They’d probably mock me for my paltry number of followers. They’d break out their artisanal ice cubes, drop them in their small-batch cocktails garnished with edible flowers, and laugh at little me. And yet, I swallow my pride, then add, “And for you, Simone.”
After all, a deal’s a deal.
Simone brightens. “Yes, let’s talk about the big day.” She chatters on about what she’ll be wearing, and when she’ll reveal it to her one million followers, and I take notes in the purple notebook my husband gave me.
That gives me a little zing.
When Simone’s done talking, I set down my pen. “That all sounds—”
Xander points at my left hand like I’m wearing a spider. “Your ring. What happened? How did that happen?”
Like me being married is differential calculus. And for a second, I hesitate to say anything. But Hayes is wearing his ring, his teammates know, and it’s only a matter of time before word gets out beyond the Avengers. It’ll happen soon enough at the upcoming golf event.
“Well, I met this guy—”
“I just can’t believe you’re married already.”
Ohhh. Right. He can move on while he’s with me, but I ought to mourn The Dapper Man till the end of time. I square my shoulders. “Yes. Already. It was a whirlwind romance because when you know, you know, right? I’m married to Hayes Armstrong on the Avengers,” I say, sitting up straighter, owning it. “My plus-one at your wedding, as a matter of fact. You might have heard of him. The hotshot new hockey star in town.”
Xander’s jaw drops.
Simone beams.
“You always talked about the importance of not settling, so I didn’t,” I add. Take that.
Xander’s eyes flash with clout. Yup, he’s imagining how it’d look to have a bona fide pro athlete at his wedding. Simone grins too. “How wonderful,” she says.
He turns to her, squeezes her hand. “So fantastic.” He clears his throat, then adds, “And did you know the team captain owns a restaurant?”
Um, yeah. But what does that have to do with anything? “I’m aware.”
“Stefan Christiansen,” he says—yes, he fucked me this morning to remind me you never deserved me—then turns to Simone. “We should invite him too.”
What a couple of star fuckers.
When I leave the shop, I steal a final glance over my shoulder at the pair as they walk into the San Francisco day, Xander clutching Salinger like it’s his baby. Shaking my head, I return to my building, a cloud of dark thoughts chasing me as I click to my texts. I’m desperate for a reality check, so I open the thread with Trina and Aubrey.
Ivy: Question: What did I ever see in Xander?
Aubrey’s three bubbles dance.
Aubrey: You liked that he wasn’t a tech bro.
Ivy: Wow. That’s so compelling.
Trina: And he liked to bake bread.
Ivy: I mean, I love bread, but was I THAT impressed with someone just…baking?
Aubrey: Also, he went thrifting with you. You liked that too.
I groan, remembering the things he would say as we shopped. You can wear this dress when you hit your first 10K. Then get this top for when you go viral. Once, when I’d shared news of a writing job I’d been offered, he’d said, Take the assignment. It’s going to open doors for you. It’s all so apparent in retrospect—he was trying to change me with his do this, do that encouragement. When he gave it, I felt like he was doling out important advice. Like he was a boyfriend who’d legit taken an interest in my career and my life. But now, looking back, I can see that he was always trying to mold me. I just wanted to write about something I loved. I wasn’t trying to make gobs of money or rule the online world. But I’d been fooled by his fake cheerleading as we hunted for secondhand clothes.
I suppose it’s no surprise I missed the signs. When I was growing up, it’s not like I ever saw a man be truly good to a woman. By the time I was eight or nine, I was looking out for my little sister, keeping her busy when my dad would yell, and then hoping every night and every morning that my mom would kick my dad out of the house.
Annoyed, I put my phone away and drag myself into my building, head upstairs, and shed my shoes as I greet Roxy, who jumps up when she sees me then barks until I give her a daily sock.
Placated, she snags it in her little teeth and scurries off, butt waggling, to deposit it in her secret sock collection in my bedroom.