record. She was smitten. I could see it on her face as she sent him message after message, while I sat there…doing nothing.
Tabitha texted her husband. I still didn’t know his name. After years of knowing her, I realized I didn’t know much at all about her. Did she do that on purpose to separate herself from her clients, or was I just a selfish person?
Note to self…find out more about Tabitha.
Even Trudy, the permanently single one, seemed to have someone special to talk to tonight, as her fingers flew across the keyboard and her face lit up in a devious smile. Things must be going well with the waiter.
Good Lord, I hope she was being careful, or at least using protection.
I looked down at my purse and considered texting Ryan, but what would I say?
We’re here…drank a shot of Fireball. Okay, bye.
I’d just never felt that need—that blinding, overwhelming desire to contact him, to run out and tell him everything that happened during my day.
Should I?
There was once a time when I couldn’t stop texting August. I’d tell him everything, from the way the trees smelled to the color of a flower I’d seen on a walk. Even my morning cup of coffee could spark a twenty-minute conversation. Why wasn’t it the same with the man I’d chosen to spend the rest of my life with?
Looking down at my glass of wine, I realized it was already gone and I was not nearly drunk enough for this train of thought. Reaching across the table, I grabbed one of the remaining shots of Fireball and tossed it back, followed by another, and then one more for good measure.
No one really seemed to notice. Everyone was far too busy, buried in their phones.
Maybe I should have used my penis shot glass. That might have gotten their attention.
“I’m going to the restroom and then I’m going to make a call,” I said, grabbing my phone.
“Ah, that’s so sweet!” Trudy said, her head tilting to the side.
“Hurry back, because I think our songs are coming up!” Sarah followed up.
“Will do!” I answered, finally feeling the effects of the liquor starting to kick in. I was always a lightweight when it came to alcohol. One glass, two tops, and I was a goner.
As I walked away from the table, my feet wobbled beneath me and I giggled as a plan formed in my befuddled mind.
I should not have been trusted with a phone.
Chapter Eight
August
I was half asleep on the living room couch, watching Ghostbusters when the phone rang. It was the second movie—the one with the creepy painting and all the green goo. I personally liked the Stay Puft Marshmallow Man better. You never could go wrong with an original.
Unless, of course it was me.
Clicking off the movie, I looked up at the clock on the small cable box and I noticed the time.
Midnight.
Considering I knew about five people in the city outside of clients, I immediately sat up, feeling wide awake as I wondered who could possibly be hurt or in trouble at this late hour.
I’d canceled on Magnolia. Again.
She’d graciously understood, telling me she would be here whenever I was ready.
She understood everything now that I’d told her the truth. It was a relief knowing I could stretch out our relationship longer, postponing the attachment I knew she was forming, but at the same time I knew she wasn’t going anywhere.
There was literally nothing I could do to drive her away. I was like a lost puppy to her, and all I needed was love and a good home and soon enough I would be healed and good as new.
Only, I wouldn’t.
Nothing would ever fix me. I was permanently broken.
Grabbing my phone off the coffee table, I saw the caller ID and groaned.
The reason for my brokenness, calling at midnight.
That could not be good.
Don’t answer it , I told myself, as my finger closed down on the green Accept button.
“Hello?” I said tentatively.
“You don’t love me, and I don’t think I love him.” Her voice was slurred. Loud music boomed in the background. “One big mess. So
Tabitha texted her husband. I still didn’t know his name. After years of knowing her, I realized I didn’t know much at all about her. Did she do that on purpose to separate herself from her clients, or was I just a selfish person?
Note to self…find out more about Tabitha.
Even Trudy, the permanently single one, seemed to have someone special to talk to tonight, as her fingers flew across the keyboard and her face lit up in a devious smile. Things must be going well with the waiter.
Good Lord, I hope she was being careful, or at least using protection.
I looked down at my purse and considered texting Ryan, but what would I say?
We’re here…drank a shot of Fireball. Okay, bye.
I’d just never felt that need—that blinding, overwhelming desire to contact him, to run out and tell him everything that happened during my day.
Should I?
There was once a time when I couldn’t stop texting August. I’d tell him everything, from the way the trees smelled to the color of a flower I’d seen on a walk. Even my morning cup of coffee could spark a twenty-minute conversation. Why wasn’t it the same with the man I’d chosen to spend the rest of my life with?
Looking down at my glass of wine, I realized it was already gone and I was not nearly drunk enough for this train of thought. Reaching across the table, I grabbed one of the remaining shots of Fireball and tossed it back, followed by another, and then one more for good measure.
No one really seemed to notice. Everyone was far too busy, buried in their phones.
Maybe I should have used my penis shot glass. That might have gotten their attention.
“I’m going to the restroom and then I’m going to make a call,” I said, grabbing my phone.
“Ah, that’s so sweet!” Trudy said, her head tilting to the side.
“Hurry back, because I think our songs are coming up!” Sarah followed up.
“Will do!” I answered, finally feeling the effects of the liquor starting to kick in. I was always a lightweight when it came to alcohol. One glass, two tops, and I was a goner.
As I walked away from the table, my feet wobbled beneath me and I giggled as a plan formed in my befuddled mind.
I should not have been trusted with a phone.
Chapter Eight
August
I was half asleep on the living room couch, watching Ghostbusters when the phone rang. It was the second movie—the one with the creepy painting and all the green goo. I personally liked the Stay Puft Marshmallow Man better. You never could go wrong with an original.
Unless, of course it was me.
Clicking off the movie, I looked up at the clock on the small cable box and I noticed the time.
Midnight.
Considering I knew about five people in the city outside of clients, I immediately sat up, feeling wide awake as I wondered who could possibly be hurt or in trouble at this late hour.
I’d canceled on Magnolia. Again.
She’d graciously understood, telling me she would be here whenever I was ready.
She understood everything now that I’d told her the truth. It was a relief knowing I could stretch out our relationship longer, postponing the attachment I knew she was forming, but at the same time I knew she wasn’t going anywhere.
There was literally nothing I could do to drive her away. I was like a lost puppy to her, and all I needed was love and a good home and soon enough I would be healed and good as new.
Only, I wouldn’t.
Nothing would ever fix me. I was permanently broken.
Grabbing my phone off the coffee table, I saw the caller ID and groaned.
The reason for my brokenness, calling at midnight.
That could not be good.
Don’t answer it , I told myself, as my finger closed down on the green Accept button.
“Hello?” I said tentatively.
“You don’t love me, and I don’t think I love him.” Her voice was slurred. Loud music boomed in the background. “One big mess. So
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