Total pages in book: 91
Estimated words: 90524 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 453(@200wpm)___ 362(@250wpm)___ 302(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 90524 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 453(@200wpm)___ 362(@250wpm)___ 302(@300wpm)
“And because you liked him so much – or because you had watched too many don’t be alone at Christmas movies – you decided to stick around longer than normal…And because you don’t like to play puppy girlfriend or not be busy, you opted for a part time, no strings attached type of gig, here.”
She flicks the photo to a selfie of me in an odd uniform. “I worked at a toy store? Seriously?”
“You wanted something ‘easy to leave’ if the time ever came.” Berks swipes the screen again to show me a text with those exact words. “See.”
Glancing over the messages gets something gnawing in the back of my mind, but I’m not sure exactly what.
“Marc wanted to take things slow, and you were – strangely enough – all for that – again most likely brainwashed by Hulu funded Christmas comedies…” Another brush of the screen reveals more examples to verify what she’s saying. “You needed a place to stay for a few months while you saw where things were going so enter…”
The next reveal has my jaw dropping to the table and stare snapping to hers. “Kenji?!”
Her cringing is accompanied by a slow nod.
“Ohmygod!”
“I’m not entirely sure how long they were fucking or falling or whatever you wanna call it, but I am sure he wasn’t banging you once they started because that’s when the series of ‘am I not fuckable anymore’ texts started pouring in and my ‘start screenshotting more of this shit’ radar went off.”
Disbelief has my elbows plopping onto the table and face falling into my open palms.
“Here’s where the trauma timeline gets a little blurry for me…” She turns her device to completely face her, scrolls, swipes, and then presents it to me again. “I got an early morning text telling me you had been fired from Snuggles & Cuddles-”
“I’ve never been fired before!”
“-then I got another text about an hour later that said you were moving; I assume because you found out they were fucking behind your back.”
“Probably!”
“Then I got another that said I’m gonna go be a princess, which was weird, but I figured probably charity or child birthday party related?” One more flick of the finger reveals to me a sight I’m very familiar with. “Then two days later, this photo of you is trending.”
Despite my best efforts, I can’t stop myself from smiling over the picture of me, Bella, and Ig at his opening night game.
The whole thing made me feel like some sort of hockey princess at a weird inauguration ceremony.
And honestly?
I’ve kind of been treated like sports royalty ever since.
Unusual access to important people and places in the arena.
Having my photo constantly taken while I’m there or we’re out and about.
Leading the Slayers and being consistently labeled as one.
It’s a surreal yet fitting comparison.
Can’t say I hate it.
Definitely can’t say I don’t see it.
“And I wanted to immediately poke and prod you about it because I have no record of you taking or even interviewing for a new nanny gig let alone one for some Russian NHL God which is why when you were requesting documentation, I didn’t have any to share but…” Berks wistfully turns the picture towards her. “I hadn’t seen you look that happy since we graduated.” One push of a button turns her screen off for her to redirect her gaze to me. “And you deserve to be happy, Joey. I know you’re really good about getting people to a place where they’re happy and can maintain their happiness, but you suck at doing it for yourself.”
Ugh.
Exhibit B for calling me out on my bullshit.
“So…” she slips her phone back in her purse. “I’m guessing by the look on your face none of that shit instantly rang a bell?”
“Nope.”
“And I’m gonna make another educated guess that you’re probably not about to have another episode.”
“Nope.”
“And since I can see for myself in person that you’re…theoretically fine…I can finally ask…how exactly did you get this job?”
A second lump of consternation drops to the pit of my stomach to set up shop beside the first.
You know what…that’s a damn good question.
One I’ve been wondering about myself from the very beginning.
I think it’s time to get the total truth from Igor “Eeyore” Alexeyev.
Even if it means having to say goodbye to people who finally feel like family to me once I have it.
Chapter 14
Joey
“You’re not the one I’m in love with…” croaks a foreign voice in the back of my mind.
Well, no shit, Santa Claus.
If he was banging my roommate, I damn sure wasn’t the one he wanted to be with under the mistletoe.
Using my thumb, I continue to scroll through the collection of photos Berks forwarded over, silently searching for answers to questions I hate having.
Why didn’t I look legitimately happy in any of these pictures?
I mean it’s obvious why he didn’t, but what about me?