Total pages in book: 85
Estimated words: 78915 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 395(@200wpm)___ 316(@250wpm)___ 263(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 78915 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 395(@200wpm)___ 316(@250wpm)___ 263(@300wpm)
“It’s Wednesday,” I say, “so technically, it hasn’t been a week.” She eyes me, and I can see all her questions. She’s legit my best friend, but I don’t even know how to say what I’m feeling. Even I have to admit it’s been a weird fucking week. I’m thinking of Becca more and more, and I have no fucking reason. I’m about to say something when my receptionist comes into the room with a box.
“You got a package.” She walks to me with the big white box in her hands and sets it on my desk. “And it’s heavy.”
“You know what they say about heavy packages,” Lizzie says, and I look over at her as she looks at the box. “Not worth the hype.”
“I’ve heard and seen that before,” my receptionist says, then walks out of the room.
“Are you going to open the package, or are you going to make me spend the day guessing what is inside and who sent it?” I look down at the white box with the big red silk bow. “That looks like a sex box.” I look up at her, shaking my head.
“What?” I ask, shocked. “How?”
“Red means sex,” she says as if it’s actually a thing.
“Who said that, and how do you even know this?” I look back down at the big white box and pick up the end of the red silk ribbon.
“A bunch of reasons.” She holds her hand up to count off the reasons. “One, the red room. It was legit a room for kinky sex,” she says, putting up one finger. “Two, red bottom shoes. You think those shoes were created for anything but sex? No woman in the universe will tell you those shoes were made for comfort.” I sit here, my mouth hanging open in shock, wondering what the fuck she is talking about. “Three, wearing red lipstick.”
“That means sex?” I ask, pinching my eyebrows together.
“Put your red lipstick on my dipstick.” She shakes her head, laughing. “Now, can you please show me what the heck is in the box?” She gets up and comes over to my big desk.
I slip the red bow off and slowly open the top of the box. I don’t know why I’m suddenly scared of what is inside. A white envelope sits on top, and folded white tissue paper means you can’t see what is underneath it. My name’s written on the front in neat handwriting.
“That’s a woman’s writing,” Lizzie says. “A woman sent you a gift?” She gasps and puts her hand to her mouth. “You hooked up with someone.” She puts her hands on her hips, and she doesn’t give me a chance to answer her. “Why didn’t you tell me? When was this? Where was this? The only place you went all weekend was to Candace’s birthday party.” She glares. “Did you have sex with a waitress?”
“Would you simmer down. It could be the clerk who wrote it,” I inform her. “It doesn’t mean that a woman sent me this.”
“Okay, so what does it say?” She folds her arms over her chest. When I open the letter, I could swear it smells like Becca. The smell of citrus and a hint of something else.
Turning it over, I slip the envelope flap open and pull the note out. I read the note, and I throw my head back and laugh. Putting the note on top of the envelope, I place it right beside the white box. I open the white tissue paper, and the bottle of scotch is in the middle of the box with two glasses. Items all around it are wrapped in white tissue paper.
“Nico, I thought this would make you smile. Enjoy the scotch. Thanks for the laughs.” I look up and see Lizzie’s face. “Becca?” She looks at me. “Like Becca Becca?”
“Can you relax, please,” I say, opening another white tissue and seeing a Celine Dion calendar.
“Like the Becca who is supermodel beautiful with perfect hair and a kick-ass body? That Becca?” I look at her, trying to hide the fact that I think of her as all that and just a bit more. “Oh, come on, you had to have noticed how beautiful she is. This is not new information to anyone. Last time she was here, the valet guy tripped and brought her the wrong car.”
“She is beautiful,” I admit out loud to Lizzie, and I wonder why I haven’t noticed before this weekend. Maybe I did notice, but I didn’t want to admit it. It might have just been the fact we were just sitting together as two people at a friend’s party without the stress of going toe-to-toe.
“Celine Dion.” She takes the calendar out of my hand, turning it over to check the pictures on the back. I pick up a wrapped roll, and when I peel the tissue off, it’s a Celine T-shirt. The laughter escapes me. “Do you even like Celine?” Lizzie asks when she spots the T-shirt with Celine’s face.