Total pages in book: 110
Estimated words: 106798 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 534(@200wpm)___ 427(@250wpm)___ 356(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 106798 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 534(@200wpm)___ 427(@250wpm)___ 356(@300wpm)
We spend most of the day in Hunter Valley taking family photos at a vineyard for a couple and their two girls whom Leah met on social media over a year ago. After the family photos, we consume more than our fair share of wine, stuff ourselves with some of the best food I’ve ever tasted, observe kangaroos in the wild, and scrounge a ride back to Sydney.
“I’m so glad you decided to do this.” Leah attempts to put a few curls in my limp hair with a wide-barreled curling iron.
“This?” I question.
“The perfect answer to unrequited love is reminding your body that a good orgasm doesn’t require deep emotion.”
“A photographer and a philosopher. And it’s not love. It’s just … feelings.”
Leah giggles. “Feelings … whatever.”
I slip into my version of a little black dress, which is actually a wide strapped, tangerine mini dress with a tie in the back.
One dress. That’s all I allotted myself since I needed to keep my belongings to one suitcase. My love for fashion rejected the idea of one suitcase. Rewearing the same five outfits? Cringe.
Suzie would understand.
Leah’s friends meet us at a bar not too far from the hostel. Noah and Mia let Leah sleep on their couch the last time she visited Sydney. She met them through social media and blindly trusted they weren’t going to murder her. If I hadn’t lived out of my car, blindly trusting that no one would murder me, I’d be more judgmental.
“Here they come,” Leah whispers, adjusting her version of a little black dress—an off-the-shoulder midi with a hot pink floral fabric that’s extremely sheer. Noah’s best mates, Peter and Martin, partners at an architecture firm, saunter toward our table. They look like brothers with dirty blond hair and the sexiest smiles. “For the record, I hooked up with one of them.”
My gaze rips from the hot guys headed toward us and sticks firmly to Leah’s painted on smile. “What? Well, which one?” I ask frantically as they close the distance to our table.
“I’m not telling you because I want you to have first choice tonight. I’m fine with either one.”
“What?” I whisper-yell at her. “No. You have to tell me.”
Leah makes a turning-the-key gesture at her pursed lips. It’s not a game. I don’t want to hook up with the same guy she hooked up with on her last visit. As they near the table, I’m forced to smile like I’m not assuming sex is a forgone conclusion.
Are they?
Did Leah tell Noah and Mia I need to get laid?
As Noah stands to greet them with manly hugs, I search for any signs of either one of them eyeing Leah with the “hey, I remember you, we had sex” look.
A slightly bigger smile.
A tiny wink.
Wandering eyes.
Something!
I’m doomed. Both men greet Leah like they’ve met her, which they obviously have, and neither one gives me even the tiniest sign. Maybe she’s lying. Maybe she hasn’t had sex with either one of them, or maybe she’s had sex with both of them.
At the same time.
No.
Well, maybe. I mean … why not?
If I were Leah, I’d embrace every opportunity afforded me. Wait …
I am Leah.
Single. Figuratively.
Young.
Free.
Adventurous.
And my husband is in love with memories. I can’t compete with those memories.
“Hi.” I smile, pulling myself from the train wreck of thoughts in my head.
Noah goes through the introductions. Peter and Martin give me the same level of attention as they give Leah. Maybe it doesn’t matter if she slept with one or both of them.
Over the next two hours, I let Zach fade from my thoughts with the help of a nice Zinfandel.
So much Zinfandel. Too much, really.
“Hey,” Peter says as I bump into him after my second trip to the ladies’ room.
I think it’s Peter. Why do they have to look so alike? It might be the Zinfandel.
“Hey,” I say as my gaze makes a sluggish trip to his face.
“I don’t live too far from here.” He rests his hands on my hips.
I lean into him out of physical necessity; it’s not pretty. There’s no disguising his intentions, no suggesting we take a walk (not that I could).
Or grab a coffee to sober up.
Or sip tea and share our life’s goals.
My mind wants to return to Zach, but I catch it from slipping back into that self-destructive behavior.
“I need to tell Leah I’m leaving.”
He nods, wearing a triumphant grin.
With nothing more than a quick goodbye to Leah and everyone else at the table, I let Peter … or Martin … take my hand and guide me to the door.
To his car.
To his apartment.
To his bedroom.
And I let the rest of the world fade away for a while.
“I could use some brekky before we give it another go. How about you?” His naked ass saunters out of the bedroom.
“Sure,” I mumble just before falling asleep.