Total pages in book: 127
Estimated words: 116132 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 581(@200wpm)___ 465(@250wpm)___ 387(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 116132 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 581(@200wpm)___ 465(@250wpm)___ 387(@300wpm)
"Jesus, Becca—your hips should have their own warning label," I laughed, holding my hand to my cheek. I could already feel a bruise forming.
"Oh, crap! Sorry, Kinsley, we'll get some ice at the party," she giggled and helped pull me back up onto her lap. Even though my cheek was throbbing I couldn’t stop laughing with Becca. Yup, we’d be a dynamic duo in no time.
When we finally arrived at the house party, we stumbled out of the car and attempted to piece ourselves together. I adjusted my black dress and tried to stand confidently on my heels that were too tall even before taking five shots.
"How does your cheek feel?" Emily asked as we made our way up the modern concrete stairs.
"Now it feels kind of numb from the alcohol, I think… My face hasn't fallen off, has it?"
Emily laughed and tugged me toward the front door. "No, you just have a big red spot on your cheek."
Oh perfect, the first time I see Josh since the break-up and I probably look like I got punched in the face. I moaned and tried to shake out my nerves.
I'd never actually been to one of these legendary parties. I'd heard about them, of course. Every year a few of the guys from the professional soccer team in LA, the LA Stars, rent a giant house together. It was a "work hard, play harder" situation. This year, when Josh had been signed to the professional team, he'd moved into the house— which is why I knew he'd be at the party.
The LA Stars were the top soccer team in the US. Last year, five of their team members competed for the US in the World Cup only to lose in the last few minutes to Portugal. Needless to say, they were some of the top athletes in the world, with sponsorships and frequent spots on the talk-show circuit.
When we stepped into the house, my vision was bombarded with a plethora of beautiful people. Groupies, celebrities, soccer stars. It was hard to see through all the dancing bodies, but at least the chances of seeing Josh were pretty slim.
"Don't go too crazy, girls. Remember that you're representing our team now," Tara warned before she and Sofie took off and left us in the entryway.
"This is crazy," Emily murmured. I looked over to see her gulping down the scene with quick darting glances. I guess it was a lot to process, especially since LA was already an over the top town to begin with.
"Let's go find some ice for my cheek." I grabbed her hand and started tugging her through the crowd with Becca in tow.
It was hardly 10:00 P.M. and the party was already in full swing. People were mingling everywhere. Girls were wrapped around guys on the couches. Three tables were set up for beer pong in the living room and there was a mass of people crowded around them. I waved to some girls I recognized from club teams. Some of them tried to get us to stop and talk, but I pointed to my cheek and told them I'd be back in a bit.
The entire house was a bachelor pad on crack. Open, modern, and filled with every piece of technology imaginable. It was a maze trying to get through the living room, but finally we maneuvered our way into an expansive kitchen. It didn’t disappoint. With marble countertops and chic black appliances, it fit in perfectly with the rest of the house. The space was less crowded than the other rooms, but there were still at least fifty people between us and the freezer.
"Here, you just stand there and I'll get you some ice." Emily gently pushed me to the side against the kitchen counter so that she could prepare a little ice pack for me with a bunch of paper towels.
My feet were starting to hurt from my four inch heels, so I reached back to prop myself up onto the counter. I should have inspected the spot beforehand because as I hopped up I heard the telltale sound of alcohol bottles tipping over and crashing into the sink.
"Oops!" I giggled, then covered my mouth with my hands.
"You're a liability," Becca joked, reaching behind me to right the tipped over bottles.
In my drunken state, I didn't seem to care. Sitting on the counter definitely beat standing up on my high heels, and from my vantage point I could see over the heads of everyone standing in the kitchen. The amount of plastic surgery in that room could have rivaled a Miss America dressing room. Everywhere I looked I was greeted with fake boobs and nose jobs, but it was LA and these women had their jobs cut out for them if they intended on landing a professional athlete.