Total pages in book: 62
Estimated words: 56462 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 282(@200wpm)___ 226(@250wpm)___ 188(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 56462 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 282(@200wpm)___ 226(@250wpm)___ 188(@300wpm)
I give her a blank stare, and as the idea sits with me, I quickly get on board.
She’s right. Why the hell shouldn’t I get wasted and fuck around? I like sex just as much as the next girl. I need it. And if Brandon can slut it up for Amelia, then why should I be spending my night moping about some guy when I could be having the time of my life?
“Fuck it,” I tell Carolina. “Let’s do it.”
“YES!” she cheers, holding up her glass. “That’s my girl. I thought I’d lost you for a minute.”
I roll my eyes, and not a moment later, her arm slips through mine as we make our way back to the bar, determined to make the most of tonight.
An hour later, I stand on a table next to Jan from Accounting, twerking against Nathan from HR while Carolina holds a stack of ones, making it rain for my skank-ass. I haven’t got a clue where she would have gotten her hands on a huge stack of dollar bills, but I can’t bring myself to care. All that matters is that we’re having the time of our lives.
“Rockin’ Around The Christmas Tree” blasts from the speakers, and as I sip on cheap wine and let it go straight to my head, I don’t dare stop moving. My feet hurt, and as Jan and Nathan start making out right next to me, I figure it’s time to call it quits.
Carolina reaches for me as I begin to make my way off the table, and as I move, the bottom of my stiletto catches on the edge of the chair. I can’t save myself, and my arms flail as I crash onto the ground, taking Carolina down with me in a fearful fit of laughter.
“Holy fucking shit,” she howls, trying to wobble to her feet. “Are you okay?”
All I can do is laugh as I allow her to try and pull me back up, only that’s a lot easier said than done, and it ends up taking nearly a whole two minutes before we’re both stable on our heels. We fix ourselves one last drink before looping arms and strolling right out the door.
We get halfway down the street before my eyes widen, and I gape at Carolina. “We didn’t say goodbye to anyone.”
Her eyes widen in horror before we both start laughing all over again. “Oh my God. No wonder they don’t want to give us those promotions.”
“They’re such idiots,” I tell her. “We are the best ones in that whole firm. They’re lucky to have us.”
“Damn straight,” she says. “You know Jeremy asked me how to file a subpoena yesterday. Like . . . What the actual fuck? Filing paperwork should come as naturally as wiping your own ass. Tell me, how does that doorknob get promoted over me? Make it make sense.”
“Ahhh,” I say, holding up a finger as though I’ve just figured out the solution to the world’s problems. “I believe it may have something to do with the slimy, worm-like appendage in his too-tight pants.”
“His pants really are too tight. I mean, how does his asshole breathe in there? His ass cheeks are probably permanently squished together.”
A smirk lingers on my lips as we dawdle down the street, moving further away from the party and into the cool night. “You think when he farts, the little air bubble has to travel down to his dick and balls, like when girls are sitting down, and it has to escape through the front, and you feel it vibrate through your lips?”
“Oh my God. Yes,” Carolina gasps, clutching me tighter as she laughs. “What if he feels it vibrate against his sack? Or . . . Or does it shoot right up the back of his ass crack and escape out through the top of his pants only to get trapped inside the back of his button-down?”
“And then he’s just walking around all day wearing his fart?”
“Ughhhhh,” Carolina groans in disgust. “I always knew there was a reason why I hated Jeremy so much. He’s wearing his farts.”
“This needs to be discussed with Nathan as a matter of urgency.”
“It absolutely does,” Carolina agrees, fishing her phone from her clutch. She fumbles with it for just a moment before swiping her thumb across the screen, and within seconds, Nathan’s name appears. She hits call before finding the speakerphone button, and we pause in the middle of the walkway as we listen to the call connecting.
“What the fuck do you want?” A female’s voice snaps, quickly followed by a panting gasp. “We’re busy.”
“Jan?” I ask, listening as hard as my foggy brain can possibly manage. “Is that you?”
“Yes,” she groans. “It’s me. Now, what do you want?”
Wait . . . Are they fucking?
“Where’s Nathan?” Carolina asks, not having caught on quite as fast as I have. “It’s a matter of public health. We need to talk to him urgently. Jeremy has been walking around the office wearing his farts.”