Total pages in book: 83
Estimated words: 77582 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 388(@200wpm)___ 310(@250wpm)___ 259(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 77582 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 388(@200wpm)___ 310(@250wpm)___ 259(@300wpm)
Smiling despite my exhaustion, I say, “I’m glad you two had an amazing evening. Unfortunately, mine wasn’t so great. It was pretty awful, in fact.”
“Fuck, dude,” Christian says. “I’m sorry. What happened?”
I briefly explain, prompting more cursing and scandalized sounds from Christian and Starling.
“That is so gross, I can’t wrap my head around it,” Starling says. “And I’m not talking about the poo. I mean, yes, the poo is super gross and repulsive, but the ‘slut’ thing? That’s so messed up. When will people stop shaming women for our perfectly natural, healthy, species-continuing bodily urges?”
“I would never shame you for your urges, babe,” Christian says. “I love your urges. Your urges are one of my favorite things about you.”
“Aw, same, baby,” Starling says, followed by some smacking sounds. I assume they are wasted-ly making out.
“Right,” I say in a louder voice, fairly certain this has all been an exercise in futility, but figuring I might as well beg for the favor I called to ask. “Anyway, Christian, if you could hire someone to come clean up the porch for Tessa, maybe one of the guys at the bike shop, I’d really appreciate it. We’re getting out of town for a while to give Daria time to cool off.”
“Want me to take care of the mannequin, too?” he asks.
“No, we’re going to leave that where it is, in case we need evidence of harassment down the line. But if you wouldn’t mind calling Damon at Home Solutions to install new locks on the doors and a security system with exterior cameras, that would be amazing.”
“Done,” he says. “As soon as things open, I’ll make some calls.”
“Thanks,” I say, hesitating a beat before I add, “Should I call you again in a few hours? Or text? How much of this do you think you’re going to remember?”
“All of it,” Christian says with a soft laugh. “My mind is laser sharp. I think it’s actually working better than it usually does. For example, I just realized that Starling has a freckle on her shoulder that I’ve never noticed before. It’s the cutest little freckle, and we’ve been naked together at least a thousand times, but I—”
“Probably two thousand,” Starling cuts in. “We went through a really over-the-top lovemaking phase for a while. It was winter and we were pretending we were pirate smugglers stuck in an ice cave and the only way to survive was stripping naked and sharing the same sleeping bag. And well…turns out that really did it for us. We practically ran home from work every day to get naked and hang out in the shed without the space heater on.”
“Good times,” Christian says fondly.
“So good.” Starling sighs. “You should try that one sometime, Wes. Pretending is really fun. So is sharing a sleeping bag.”
“So, I’ve heard,” I say, wondering if the universe is using my brother and future sister-in-law to punish me. Sadly, my own shared sleeping bag situation didn’t have such a happy ending.
As Tessa emerges from the garage, closing it behind her, she looks like she’s headed to the guillotine. Her shoulders bow under her backpack, her chin droops toward her chest, and her hiking boots drag a little as she walks. Her body language is practically screaming, “I’d rather be anywhere else than here,” and I can’t say I blame her.
But maybe…
Maybe Starling’s on to something with her “pretending” advice.
“Thanks for the help, guys,” I say, my thoughts racing. “And for the ideas. Take care of yourselves and get home safe.”
“You, too, man,” Christian says. “I love you, Wes. You’re made of stardust, brother. Don’t forget it. You are literally stardust and there is nothing you can’t do.”
“Thanks again,” I say before ending the call.
Nothing I can’t do…
Well, I guess we’ll see about that.
Chapter 12
TESSA
On the way out of town, Wesley is weirdly quiet, but that’s fine with me. I wasn’t lying about being exhausted.
Maybe it was the adrenaline rush after finding the mannequin in the shower that sapped the last of my energy. Or maybe it was Wes’s “Darcy thought she was pregnant” speech that stomped my will to live into a soggy puddle on the bathroom floor.
I should be used to conversations like that by now. They happen all the time, especially in my current friend group.
Hanging out with people five to ten years younger than I am is great for keeping me out on the town and up to date on the most recent slang, but not so great when it comes to avoiding mentions of pregnancy. Someone is always getting knocked up. It feels like I’m bombarded by baby bellies on a daily basis. It doesn’t help that my boss is pregnant, and we cater at least four or five baby showers a month.
But I’ve known I can’t have children for a while, since I was thirty-five and saved for months to freeze my eggs, only to learn that wasn’t a viable option for me. I should be used to being on the outside looking in by now.