Total pages in book: 124
Estimated words: 122514 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 613(@200wpm)___ 490(@250wpm)___ 408(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 122514 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 613(@200wpm)___ 490(@250wpm)___ 408(@300wpm)
“Oh yes, Mr. Forster,” someone said. “Of course. One moment, please.”
It was another two minutes before I heard a door close and Reese said more clearly, “Okay. I’m in a back office that I’m pretty sure some dude was hoping to take a nap in for his thirty-minute break just now.” He yawned. “And shit. Why am I talking to you at two in the morning?”
I forgot he was an hour ahead where he was. “Why would you not talk to me when I’m buzzed?” I felt a belch coming and stifled it. “I’m hilarious.”
He laughed quietly. I heard creaking on his end. “Maybe. So entertain me, woman.”
“Stop calling me woman. I have a name.”
“Gnat.”
“You call me a gnat again, and I’ll start taking pictures of your dirty boxers. You have some here, you know.”
“You wouldn’t.”
“Stop calling me a gnat. It’s insulting.”
“Okay, okay. I’m sorry. You’re right. Just…names felt a bit personal, Miss Don’t-Ask-Me-Any-Real-Questions. Thought a nickname, made in jest, was the right way to go.”
“What do you usually call your female friends?”
He grunted. “I don’t have female friends.”
“Right. You have one-use girls?”
“Or multiple-use girls.”
“That is disgusting.”
He laughed. “Sorry. I don’t really date, so I don’t label anyone anything, but would you rather I say fuck buddies? I have a few of those.”
I wasn’t feeling a burning in my chest. Not at all. A gnat hadn’t nestled there and started digging even deeper.
I scowled. “When’s the last time you dated?”
“Really? We’re going this route?”
“What?”
“Don’t be a jealous chick. I don’t like that.”
“Don’t call me a chick either.”
“Shit!” He was silent a second.
I bit my lip. What was I doing?
“Are you seriously jealous?” He was quieter now.
Was I? “I don’t know.”
His voice was strained. “I thought we were friends. I mean…we are, aren’t we?”
Had I just messed that up? I swallowed, pushed down a lump, and sagged back on his couch. “I have no idea. I mean, I’m a mess.”
“Certifiable.” He sounded relieved.
I relaxed, stretching my legs over the cushions. “You know about Stupid Tragic Guy, but you don’t know about the ex-ex, the most recent ex.”
“There was another guy?”
“I was using him to try to get over the tragic guy.”
“It didn’t work?”
“No.”
“Let me guess. Did you get propositioned by his grandpa?”
“Yes!” I smiled. “You do pay attention to me.”
“It was a shot in the dark.” He was wry now, with a twinge of wariness. “Is this a problem for us?”
“There’s an us?”
He was quiet again. One beat. Then, softer, “I thought there was. A friendship us.”
“Friends.”
“Are we doing it? The talk?” He was grinning. I couldn’t see it. I couldn’t hear it, but I could feel it.
“The talk?” I asked.
“Where we cement an actual friendship, where we move toward giving a shit about each other and have each others’ backs, and it’s not a big deal.”
Friends. For real. “So that means I should stop calling you Reese Forster in my head, huh?”
He snorted. “Oh my God, tell me you don’t do that.”
I laughed. “I don’t. Or I didn’t. Today.”
More laughter. “Fuck. You’re whacked.” A sigh. “So, when are you going to tell me about the ex-ex?”
“Never-never.”
“You’re a different duck, that’s for sure.” He seemed resigned to it.
“I know.”
“But I like that.”
I smiled once again, but just like that, my eyelids were getting heavy. “I know.” The moment had passed. We were back to friendly and comfortable waters.
And I was still buzzed, but now the buzzed had moved to the buzz that makes you want to fall asleep, and fast.
I yawned.
A soft chuckle. “So, do you want me to answer those questions, or is this where we hang up and you pass out on my couch?”
I was nodding off. I yawned again into the phone, “Saftrabels. Congrassuladnsonurwn.”
“Yeah. Okay.” He laughed. “No idea what you just said. Good night, friend. I’ll text you my responses in the morning.”
But I didn’t hear. I was asleep.
Reese: Octopus. BBC says they’re smart. Bears could eat me, so there’s that.
Reese: The point of having the last word is feeling like you won? I don’t know. Conflict should be about resolution, not winning, or so my coach said, but he likes to yell. And get the last word in.
Reese: Makes sense to me, but I have someone to clean my place too.
Reese: Yes. It would have to change it to Warm Terrain and no longer Frozen Tundra.
Reese: Let’s cheer again. Good measure.
Reese: Trust her when she says she’s on birth control.
Reese: Are we talking anal or oral?
Reese: Not a goddamn clue. Let’s make up our own word. That can be called Frozen Tundra instead.
I woke up to his responses, followed by one last one.
Reese: Night.
And then a few new ones that had come in this morning.
Reese: On the bus. Had breakfast. Want our flight number?
Reese: Why are you not answering? Still sleeping or am I getting the last word in?