Total pages in book: 132
Estimated words: 133224 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 666(@200wpm)___ 533(@250wpm)___ 444(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 133224 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 666(@200wpm)___ 533(@250wpm)___ 444(@300wpm)
If only . . .
Chapter 3
Rebecca
“Well, what are you going to do?” Chloe flops onto the couch and rests her face on her hand.
“I don’t know.” I fill our glasses of wine. “Maybe I shouldn’t even go for the house. I mean, what’s the point if I can’t afford it anyway.”
“You can’t let him have it out of principle,” Chloe huffs. “Get it, and then if you have to, you can sell it, but no way in hell is that dickhead living here when you can’t.”
“He wouldn’t even want to live here anymore,” I reply. “He and Blake would kill each other.”
“Exactly. The very first thing he would do is sell it. He only wants it because it means something to you.”
“The bastard is weaponizing my house.” I pass her the wineglass and take a seat beside her, curling my legs up beneath me.
“He’s trying to manipulate you; that’s what he’s doing. He thinks he can force you to go back to him.” She sips her wine. “Five years with no divorce? Get fucked, asshole.”
I smile. There’s only one thing better than listening to myself rave on about John, and it’s listening to my friends do it. I don’t think there has ever been a more hated man on earth. He’s Kingston Lane’s public enemy number one.
“So he thinks he can move you here, away from all your family and friends, screw his secretary for eighteen months behind your back, get caught, and then bribe you to not divorce him.”
My eyebrows flick up. “Sounds really bad when you say it out loud.”
“That’s because it is really bad. He’s such a selfish asshole that I can’t stand it.”
I exhale heavily and sip my wine.
“What did Juliet say?”
“I haven’t seen her yet. She’s worked all weekend.”
“Well, Blake is going to go postal.”
“Do not tell Blake,” I warn her. “He came over last night for dinner, and I didn’t say a word. I am not in the mood for one of his lectures.”
“He’s just being a good friend.”
“You know he’s overbearing when it comes to John.”
She gets up, goes to the window, and peers through the curtains at the boys playing golf. “Still fine as fuck, though.”
I roll my eyes. “I thought you were all in love with Oliver?”
“I am.” She keeps watching the boys. “I’m taken, not dead.” She smiles. “There isn’t a woman on earth who doesn’t find Blake Grayson totally irresistible.”
I raise my hand. “Me.”
“Admittedly”—she raises her wineglass toward me—“you are the exception.”
“Back to my lack of finances. What am I going to do?” I sigh, uninterested.
Chloe continues to peer through the curtains as she studies the boys some more. “The only thing you can do.”
“Which is?”
“Open an OnlyFans.”
Chloe and I carefully walk down my front steps with our trays of food. Chloe made chicken satay skewers, and I made a large potato bake and some fried rice. We each have a bottle of wine under our arms as well. The boys are on their putting green; I still can’t believe we have a golf green in the middle of our cul-de-sac.
“Nooo,” the boys collectively cry as Antony sinks a golf ball into the hole.
“Fluke,” Henley yells.
“You guys coming over?” I call as we walk past them to Carol’s.
“In a minute,” Blake calls as he picks up the putter. “Just got to show these losers who’s boss.” He sticks his tongue out to concentrate as he lines up to the ball.
We walk down the road and up Carol’s front steps.
“Come in, my loves,” Carol calls.
We walk in to find her in her apron, bent over and peering into her oven. “This damn oven is acting up.”
“Let’s get the party started, people,” Taryn laughs as she walks through the door. She’s in a skintight hot-pink tube dress and carrying a huge-ass cooler.
How does she look so hot in everything she wears? “What the hell is in there?” I frown.
“Party punch. Here, help me,” she replies.
I take one end of the cooler from her, and we struggle into the kitchen. “This thing weighs a ton.”
“Put it down in here.”
Clunk. We drop it with a thud, and she opens the lid to pull out a giant glass punch bowl and ladle. “I make the best party punch in the history of life.” She pulls out a few two-liter bottles of an orange liquid and begins to fill the punch bowl.
“If you do say so yourself.” I laugh.
“Exactly.” Once the punch bowl is full, she pours in a container of chopped-up fruit. “Get a glass,” she instructs me.
“In here, dear.” Carol opens the top cupboard and retrieves some tall glasses. “A big punch bowl deserves big glasses.” She passes me one, and Taryn fills it to the very top.
Yeesh . . . that’s a lot of punch.
I take a slow sip. It’s orangey and lemony, and wow, I’m pleasantly surprised. I lick my lips to really taste it. “This is delicious, Taryn. Doesn’t even taste alcoholic.”