Total pages in book: 142
Estimated words: 137205 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 686(@200wpm)___ 549(@250wpm)___ 457(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 137205 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 686(@200wpm)___ 549(@250wpm)___ 457(@300wpm)
“And I know, I shouldn’t try to run your life for you,” she says, even though I haven’t said a word. “I promise to get better about that as long as you get better about stepping outside your comfort zone and taking chances from time to time. It can lead you somewhere really unexpected, but really good. Look at me. Party girl extraordinaire. I took a chance and stepped outside my comfort zone with Tyler, and now we’re getting married tomorrow. Me. Married. Who ever thought you would be the maid of honor at my wedding before I got to be yours?”
It’s true, between the two of us, I am the more romantic. I’m the one who actually hoped to find someone to share my life with, while Charity was more about just having fun. No one expected her to get married anytime soon, but then Tyler came along and changed the game.
I’m happy for them, and I would like to find that special someone for myself, but I’m so sick of dating. It’s exhausting chasing dead-end after dead-end, trying again and again to find someone to connect with and being disappointed every damn time.
After my last hollow relationship, I’m content to be single for a while. I need to recharge, take a little time to myself before I’ll have the energy to dive back into the dating pool again.
My phone buzzes. As if the universe is eavesdropping on our conversation and wants to contribute, the name of my most recent ex-boyfriend pops up on the screen.
Charity grabs my phone. “Ew. Why is Jackson texting you?” Eyes wide, she looks up at me. “I’m over here trying to set you up and here you are…” She trails off as she opens the text message to read it for herself. “Tell me you are not drunk-texting this hopeless asshole.”
“How could I drunk-text anyone? I’m not even drunk.” I snatch my phone from her. “And no, I didn’t text him.” Frowning faintly, I open the text to see what Jackson wants.
The message reads, “I need to see you.”
“Don’t you dare text him back,” Charity says. “You dumped him. It’s over. He sucks. C’est la fucking vie.”
My grip on the phone tightens almost protectively as I text him back to ask what’s wrong.
I can’t be like Charity when it comes to things like this. She has dumped plenty of guys over the years, so it’s nothing to her. Like ripping off a Band-aid. Jackson is only the second guy I’ve ever dumped in my whole life, and I let the relationship drag on for three months past the time of death hoping to avoid it. I don’t like being dumped, either, but I would’ve preferred if he got bored and dumped me instead of making me dump him.
It didn’t work, though. Jackson is a workaholic. I’m not even sure he noticed I pulled back until a couple of weeks before I finally got up the nerve to end things.
Honestly, I didn’t think he would be too bummed about it by the time it happened. We hardly even saw each other anymore. We texted a few times a week, but even that wasn’t daily anymore. We were barely together, hanging by a thread. I didn’t think he would care when I finally snipped it.
In the moment, it didn’t seem like he did. He seemed stunned, but not sad. I think his ego took a bigger hit than his heart. Jackson is successful and attractive. People like him, and he’s just not the kind of guy a lot of women dump.
For me, though… there was always something missing with him. Our whole relationship felt almost rehearsed, like a scene he’d run through with countless other women. There was nothing special or personal about it.
We didn’t connect on any deeper level, we just spent time together. It didn’t even feel like spending time together, really, it felt like passing time in the same vicinity as one another.
It wasn’t what I wanted. Since I knew we couldn’t meet one another’s needs, I finally called it.
I suppose because there was no big dramatic end, no final incident to pound the nail into the coffin of our relationship, it came as a shock to Jackson. I also don’t think he’s ever really been told no—by a woman, at least—and he responded as if I’d spoken to him in tongues.
Once the shock passed, he started texting me again. Wanting to know why—was there someone else? There had to be someone else, right? Why wouldn’t I just admit there was someone else?
He got a little pushy about it, needing to believe this scenario he’d made up entirely in his own head to explain why I didn’t want to be with him anymore, so I finally stopped responding to his messages altogether.
It has been weeks since I last heard from him, and given the tone of this first message he’s sending me tonight, I am not excited to hear from him again. Dread churns in my gut as another text from him pops up.