Total pages in book: 114
Estimated words: 108141 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 541(@200wpm)___ 433(@250wpm)___ 360(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 108141 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 541(@200wpm)___ 433(@250wpm)___ 360(@300wpm)
Some of the items include:
Get married
Get a tattoo
Learn to play cards
Make love somewhere crazy (after I’m married)
The list goes on and on. I laugh at some of the items I wrote years ago like Go skydiving. I’ve had this list for so long, the paper it’s written on is crumpled and worn, but I keep it to remind myself of everything I’ve yet to experience in this life. If I have it my way, I will complete every single item.
Looking at the items I crossed out, my mind goes back to that gorgeous man and the way he consumed me. The reason for kissing him became irrelevant when he picked me up and placed me on top of the bar. I’ve never been kissed like that before, and it took everything in me to pull away from him when all I wanted to do was keep kissing him. How could a man I don’t even know give me butterflies Gerald couldn’t give me in the two years we were together?
He’s a stranger, for crying out loud. But a devastatingly good-looking stranger…
His handsomeness, however, was overshadowed by a coldness that clung to him. I felt a sense of danger seeping from him, but at the same time still felt safe. He’s the kind of man you stare at from a distance, hoping you won’t get caught, but never dare to approach. Yet there I was, in his arms, being devoured by him. It’s been over an hour since his lips were on mine, but I swear my body is still trying to recover from that mind-altering kiss.
Just as I’m folding my paper back up and placing it into my underwear drawer, Blaire bursts into my bedroom in her pajamas with two glasses of chocolate milk. We always have some on hand for the moments that require it. Whether it’s to celebrate our birthday or the two of us getting hired, or simply to cheer each other up after having a bad day—the chocolate milk symbolizes our friendship.
Blaire sits on my bed after handing me my glass—her short pajama bottoms and tank making my long-sleeved flannel pajamas look like something a nun would wear. My mom bought me these pajamas for Christmas, and while they’re definitely ugly, they’re super comfy. Sometimes I wonder how Blaire and I have remained friends all these years. Why she would want to deal with my mom and all my hang-ups. But instead of questioning it, I thank God for her because I can’t imagine my life without her in it. I guess it’s true what they say, opposites attract. Although, are we really opposites when most of the time I’m wishing my life could be more like hers and less like my own?
“Okay, I’m dying to know what happened.” Blaire takes a large sip of her chocolate milk before she sets it on my nightstand. “You said you would tell me when we got home, and we’re home, so spill.” She gives me her pouty face she’s mastered to get what she wants.
“I can’t believe you weren’t there to witness it.” I sip my milk slowly.
“I know! So, tell me.” She crosses her legs and leans forward like she’s a five-year-old about to be told the biggest secret.
I take a deep breath. I need to get this off my chest and Blaire is the only person I can talk to about this. My mom would completely freak out, I would never mention it to my dad, and my brother would want to find this guy to give him a beating.
“I ran into Gerald on my way to the bathroom and he had this beautiful woman with him. She was way prettier than me, and she looked at me like I was the dirt on the bottom of her heel, and get this, he introduced her to me as his fiancée.”
“That small dick motherfucker.” She grabs her milk from my nightstand and takes another sip. Blaire’s never had a filter. She’ll tell you how it is, and she doesn’t care who you are or if it’ll hurt your feelings. She has hated Gerald with a passion from the day she met him and has mentioned on several occasions she would love nothing more than to castrate him.
“Be nice,” I start to say, but I’m interrupted when Blaire places her hand on my shoulder.
“Trust me, that was me being nice. He’s an asshole. You don’t know what it was like to hear you cry yourself to sleep for days.”
I nod because what can I say in response to that—she’s right. After we broke up, I spent days lying in bed and crying myself to sleep, wondering if I could’ve done something differently, but knowing I couldn’t have. At least not without compromising my beliefs. I don’t always agree with the way my mom wants me to live my life, but there are parts of my religion I do believe in, and that includes choosing to wait until marriage to have sex.