Total pages in book: 133
Estimated words: 128069 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 640(@200wpm)___ 512(@250wpm)___ 427(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 128069 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 640(@200wpm)___ 512(@250wpm)___ 427(@300wpm)
“Hey,” I murmur, my voice gravelly from the last remnants of sleep.
She doesn’t answer. The room’s quiet. My hand makes contact with…a pillow. My eyes float open.
Pushing up on my elbows, I tilt my head, listening for any sounds of a shower perhaps. It’s dead silent. My shoulders slump, but I’m a glutton for punishment, since I swing my legs out of bed and pad to the bathroom. Just in case she’s, I dunno, quietly applying hotel lotion.
But it’s empty too. I take care of business, then hunt around the room for my clothes. I pull on my boxer briefs before sitting on the end of the bed, more contemplative than I like to be first thing in the morning.
Or, really, ever.
I drag a hand through my messy hair, missing Josie’s hands in it making it messier.
Fact is, I wasn’t just hoping for another round with her. I was hoping to get her number. To ask her to hang out again. Sure, we said it was a one-night stand. But some one-night stands should turn into two nights. Or three.
I’d been planning to suggest as much when we woke up. It’s been a while since I met someone I clicked with so easily. Someone who wasn’t into me for the number on my back. Or, on the flip side, someone who didn’t hate what it represented. Though hate may be a strong word for my ex’s feelings about hockey. Anna looked down on it, it turns out—and me. “You need a life beyond hockey. The sport won’t last forever, you know,” she’d said.
Really, it won’t?
“But you don’t like anything besides hockey,” she’d said. “You never want to discuss the world or ideas. You don’t even read the articles and think pieces I send you.”
No shit.
I’d rather take a puck to the chin than read a fucking essay.
And this trip down Romance Memory Lane was brought to you by The One-Night Stand That Ended Too Soon. But…it’s for the best. Just because Josie and I had one great night doesn’t mean we’d vibe beyond ice cream and the bedroom and random conversations that were—let’s face it—easy to have, given how we met. It’s not hard to talk to someone who’s wearing next to nothing as she bargains to gain entrance to a snooty art gallery.
Besides, my ex wasn’t all wrong. Hockey is my life. I eat, breathe, and sleep it when the season starts, and that’s what’s happening in a few more days. Resigned to not seeing Josie again, I push up from the bed, get dressed, and return to the bathroom to scrub some toothpaste on my teeth. After, I splash water on my face.
That done, I return to the room, looking for my wallet when I catch sight of a white notepad by the entrance to the room.
Huh.
I head over to it. The notepad is propped up next to the door. My name is on the first sheet, with an extra flourish on the Y. She left it there, so I wouldn’t miss it, and my chest pounds with excitement.
I grab it in record time, turning the page. Her handwriting’s neat, with plenty of space between the words, and I’m grateful for that.
Once upon a time, I moved to San Francisco. My first night in town, I met a guy who reminded me of a book.
No one has ever—in my whole life—compared me to a book before. That’s like comparing a truck to a blanket. They don’t go together. With some skepticism, I flip to the next page.
Because he fucked like a page-turner you didn’t want to put down.
And I crack up. A deep belly laugh first thing in the morning. That’s so her. You think she’s going to say something sweet, then it turns out she’s a dirty girl. With a genuine smile, I turn one more page.
Maybe I’ll see you around the city. It’s big, but it’s small too. You never know…
XO Josie
Is it just me or does this note feel a little like a clue? Like she’s a siren in a video game, darting down a passageway, saying come find me.
I’d follow her. I’d look for her. I’d chase her and catch her. Maybe that’s what this is. A little treasure hunt. A riddle, perhaps.
But that’s stupid. If she wanted to get together, she’d have left her number. Not a series of clues. It’s fine she didn’t. Just fine.
I take the three pages, rip them off carefully, and fold them in half, then quarters. I resume the hunt for my wallet so I can save these.
Wait. Where the hell is it? Did she take off with my wallet? Is that why she’s gone?
My skin goes cold. There’s no cash, but my ID and credit cards are in there. What if last night was some long con into identity theft?