Total pages in book: 24
Estimated words: 22633 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 113(@200wpm)___ 91(@250wpm)___ 75(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 22633 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 113(@200wpm)___ 91(@250wpm)___ 75(@300wpm)
I laugh and watch as the bartender pours our drinks and slides the glasses in front of us. In one gulp, without any fanfare, I throw back the shot that burns the whole way down my throat.
Elana is a little slower, and when she sets the half empty glass down, her face is puckered up. “I swear, that’s like drinking fire. Why would you order that?”
I shrug, not ready to drop my bombshell just yet. For one second, I thought I’d keep it to myself, but I tell Elana everything. Well, everything except the kiss and words I exchanged with her brother a few weeks ago. Nope, I’ve kept that all to myself.
But this… this is big, and I know I need to talk to her about it. I need to tell someone, and who else would I tell if not my best friend?
“So there’s this guy…” she starts, and I cut her off.
I hold my hand up. “Nope, not interested.”
She was searching on her phone, probably trying to find a picture to show me, but I cover her hand with mine, blocking the screen. “Forget it, Elana. I’m not going to let you hook me up.”
For just an instant, the image of Ben with his dark eyes and long beard filter through my brain, and I have to force the memories out. “But I do have something I need to talk to you about.”
She lays her phone down on the bar top. “Shoot. You have my full attention.”
I take a deep breath. “I need Friday off… I need a long weekend.”
Her eyes round in surprise. “Sure, I mean you have worked overtime every week since you started with the company. Of course you can take a day off if you need it.”
I wring my hands together and then pull them back to hold in my lap. It’s obvious I’m nervous, and Elana will notice before anyone. She squints her eyes and looks at me. “What are you hiding?”
I lift my shoulders and force a smile to my face. “I’m not hiding anything.”
She rolls her eyes. “Fine. What are you not telling me?”
My forehead creases, but I ignore her question. “I know that we are catering the alcohol for the mayor’s party on Monday night. I’ll still be able to attend and cover it for social media.”
She’s staring straight at me. “I know you don’t shirk your responsibilities, Maggie. I’m not worried about it. Now let’s get back to why you need the day off.”
I force a laugh. “Geez, can’t a girl get a day off without getting the third degree?”
Elana leans forward. “Absolutely. If Paula in HR asked for the day off, she could have it no questions asked. Rachel, Emma, Clara, Terry… same. But when my best friend asks for the day off and is being all secretive about it, I’m going to ask. So what’s up? What are you doing?”
I shrug and still don’t answer her. It’s not that I don’t want to; it’s just that I don’t know how to word it.
She takes another sip of her drink and scrunches her nose as she swallows. “Fine. You know what? I need some time off too. Maybe I’ll take off, and we can do whatever it is you’re hiding together.”
I lean back in my seat. “I’m not hiding it. I’m going to tell you, but I don’t know how to say it. I don’t want you to judge me, that’s all.”
She crosses her arms over her chest. “You’re worried about me judging you? Do you remember the time you had to sneak me out of the Theta fraternity house to avoid the walk of shame? Or the time I drank too much, and you had to clean vomit out of my hair? I mean, I can go on, but the point is, I’m the last person to judge anyone. Especially you.”
I know she’s right. I reach into my purse and pull out the printed copy of the invitation from my email. I bite my lip as I slide it across to her.
She grabs it up with a flourish and starts to read. The smile that’s on her face slowly drops, and she’s loud when she holds the paper up between us. “No fucking way, Maggie.”
I grab the paper from her hand and stuff it back into my purse. “You said you wouldn’t judge me.”
She shakes her head. “I’m not, but this isn’t you. Why would you do that?”
“Why would I auction off my virginity? Well, let’s see. I’m twenty-three years old, and I’m sick of dating. It’s turned into this big ole thing now, and I just want to get it over with.”
She sputters. “Well, that’s a crazy reason. You could just hook up at a bar or something. You don’t have to”—she leans in and whispers—“you know, sell yourself.”