Total pages in book: 86
Estimated words: 81182 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 406(@200wpm)___ 325(@250wpm)___ 271(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 81182 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 406(@200wpm)___ 325(@250wpm)___ 271(@300wpm)
Swallowing hard over the sudden lump in my throat, my eyes slide closed as I get up. I thought that—
I cut off my own thoughts, because they’re too whimsical, especially in this situation. I’m the one who told him I wanted a vacation fling, and that’s exactly what he gave me. It’s not his fault I convinced myself that I could handle a physical relationship without involving my stupid feelings.
Focusing on what I need to do and not the urge to crawl back into bed and request ice cream from room service, I go to the bathroom and start up the shower. I don’t really have time, but I can still smell the scent of him on my skin, and there is no way I’ll make it through the day in my current state without a shower.
After catching a glimpse of my reflection in the mirror before I step over the edge of the tub, I slam the curtain closed to block it out. Still, it’s there in the forefront of my mind—my hair a mess from his hands controlling me as he kissed me last night, and more bruises from his mouth and fingers added to the ones that had already started to fade.
I don’t need the physical reminder of him. Every second we spent together is burnt into my brain.
As I rush through my shower, I refuse to give in to the urge to cry. When I get home, I’ll take some time to feel sorry for myself, and after, I’ll add another five years onto my no-dating rule. With the addition of no vacation flings, because this situation just proves I have no business getting into any kind of relationship with a man.
Once I’m done, I quickly dry off and get dressed, then pack my suitcase. I gather my purse, tossing in my useless cell phone—although I swear I put it on its charger last night.
Somehow, I manage to get downstairs and in a cab by seven twenty, and I arrive at the airport to make it through security and to my gate with minutes to spare. The moment I step onto the plane, I go through the motions, more than thankful that the crew I’m working with doesn’t know me well. So no one realizes something is off or that the smile I wear most of the day is fake.
I arrive in London a little after five in the evening, after a day of flying from Ibiza to Paris and then catching the train back to the city, with my suitcase dragging behind me. I’m emotionally and physically exhausted.
All day, I’ve gone over and over my time with Walker in my head, replaying every moment and everything I said. I thought by not agreeing to see him again that I was protecting myself, but this pain in my chest feels worse than when I found out what a piece of garbage Ben was. So, the joke’s on me.
Taking my cell out of my purse as I walk toward the subway—known in London as the Tube—that will take me home, I turn it on. I need to call my mom and let her know I’m okay. I’m sure she’s worried, since I didn’t call her back last night. And I didn’t have a chance to call her earlier, with my phone being dead this morning, then with the layover between flights being so short.
When my phone comes to life, I freeze in the middle of the walkway and stare down at the device in my hand in disbelief, while everyone continues to rush by me. I try to convince myself that I’m seeing things, but I’m not. Somehow, I ended up with Walker’s phone, and I know it’s his, since the screensaver is a photo of him in his diving gear. One of him sitting on the deck of a ship with Ham and Otto each of them holding a gold bar, with the sun shining bright above their handsome heads. Dropping my purse to the top of my suitcase, I start to frantically dig through it for my own cell phone, which I already know is not there.
Startling when the phone in my hand begins to ring, I stare at the name Lindsey on the screen, and my stomach twists into a knot, while those familiar tendrils of jealousy make me feel nauseous. I don’t answer it; I press the side button, sending Lindsey to voicemail, then drop the phone into my purse like it’s on fire.
I get off the train at my stop forty-five minutes later and lug my suitcase up the million stairs to the sidewalk, then drag it with me to my apartment two blocks away, trying to figure out what I’m going to do. Obviously, I need my phone back, and Walker needs his, so we’re going to have to talk. But after waking up and feeling like I did when he wasn’t there, I’m not sure it’s a good idea.