Total pages in book: 103
Estimated words: 100523 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 503(@200wpm)___ 402(@250wpm)___ 335(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 100523 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 503(@200wpm)___ 402(@250wpm)___ 335(@300wpm)
I grab it, take it out, and open it.
There is one rule for what to wear at your divorce party—something smoking hot. I took care of an outfit for you, you beautiful single goddess, you.
Juliet must have used her code to come inside and leave this for tonight. Sister’s rights and all, to burst in and leave gifts.
And it’s not just any dress.
It’s a ruby red, sparkly, sequined body-con dress that leaves nothing to the imagination.
This looks like what a teenager would wear to a fuck-me-at-homecoming dance. But I don’t have a teenage-girl body. I flick the card against my palm as I consider the outfit. Then I spot my sister’s P.S. on the other side of the card—Body-con dresses aren’t just for the teens. Women in their thirties with women’s bodies can wear them and slay them.
She can read my mind. She’s always been able to. I run my fingers along the sequined look-at-me dress. “I am not worthy,” I confess to the dress. “I was a supreme asshole today.”
I go on, telling the dress everything, every terrible detail, until they’re all out of me.
And you know what? After what I’ve been through, the fact I didn’t try to garrote him with a necklace is absolutely miraculous.
I am worthy of this dress.
First, though, I’ve got to ditch the bra. I free the girls, then slingshot the black lace across the bedroom. It lands on a lamp, and that feels like a statement—the statement is I can wear whatever I want. Commando up top? Hell, yeah.
I tug on the dress, pulling up the spaghetti straps. The neckline plunges deeply.
And…hello! Is there a breeze down there?
I peer at the hem. Hmm. Do we call this mid-thigh length or butt-cheek length?
I shrug. Whatever.
I head to the mirror and…whoa. Is that me in this tiny thing? I’d never have worn this with Edward. He likes his ladies classy. He likes his women subtle. I am not subtle tonight. I am a billboard for Fun with a capital F.
I take out the earbuds and set them down on the bureau.
“Fuck him,” I say to my reflection, then I do my makeup, slip on some heels, and grab a purse and the lemon cheesecake blueberry bars.
Carter calls me at eight-thirty-five, five minutes after he said he’d arrive, but exactly when I figured I’d see him—Carter time. “On my way,” I say, then head down the steps of my townhome and swing open the front door. I’m so damn ready for this party.
Carter’s standing on the stoop, wearing dark jeans and an untucked slate-blue button-down that is form-fitting in all the right ways. It hugs his big biceps and snuggles against his strong chest. Bonus—with the cuffs rolled up, it shows off his forearms. In short, the shirt makes my handsome friend look even more handsome.
He’s just a good-looking guy, empirically and all.
“Hey, you,” I say.
“Hey,” he says, but it comes out strangled, like all the air has left his lungs.
“You okay?”
He clears his throat, blinks, then he manages a nod that looks a little uncomfortable. “You look…wow.”
“Aww. That’s sweet.” I lean in and kiss his cheek, taking that wow. Needing that wow.
When I let go, his eyes linger on me a little longer than usual. Well, he’s not used to seeing me in sparkles, so it makes sense that he’d want to make sure it’s really me under all this bling.
“It’s sparkly, isn’t it?” I say with a jut of my hip.
“Yes, just a little,” he grunts, then reaches for the plate of bars. He takes them as I hook my arm through his on the other side.
“Let me tell you what I said to a customer tonight.”
As we walk to his car, I tell him what I said so I can put my bad behavior behind me.
“I’m sure he didn’t think twice about it,” Carter says, exonerating me as he holds open the passenger door.
“Like us, with yesterday,” I say with a smile, sliding in.
“Yes. Exactly. We can even laugh about it,” he says once he’s in the car. “And we can laugh about it while we reinstate our puzzle club. Because I had an idea.”
“Oh! Tell me, tell me.”
But as he drives away, my phone buzzes with a notification that I have a new online review. I stop smiling.
I brace myself as I click it open.
The woman who owns this store is a big-mouthed, stupid bitch who should mind her own business.
5
HELLO, CHEESE GRATER
Rachel
Repeat after me—don’t ruin your mascara.
I say that over and over in my head as Carter drives to the party in the Marina, where all my friends will be gathered.
Suck back those sobs.
I fight off the lump in my throat that’s threatening to unleash a fire hydrant of tears. I won’t walk into the party looking like a crying banshee at Halloween.