God, he is…unreal. I am obviously not a virgin. And I’ve been with a couple of nice guys. Attractive guys. They were…okay…in bed. But nothing like Callum. Callum knows his way around a woman’s body. And he takes his time. He knows exactly how to get me off and honestly could probably do it in three minutes or less if he just went for the goal. But he doesn’t. He plays the entire field before circling back to the net and then, full speed, plows through it, sinking the shot and sending me to the fucking moon.
As I lather up in the shower, I am struggling not to get horny again. But I don’t let myself. I need to focus on the real world. Real life. My job and the possibility of moving and what that’s going to look like.
I step out of the shower and dry off, applying lotion and doing my face routine nice and slow. I hate going to bed with makeup on but sometimes, it’s inevitable. Like when you’re getting railed within an inch of your life.
I slip into some jeans shorts and a tank top, fully intending to take the rest of the day slow. It’s Saturday and while it was in the job description that I would need to be available on Saturdays, Callum told me to take the day off. Apparently, we will be traveling to Nashville over a weekend soon. This world justkeeps spinning faster and faster and I need to find something to hang onto.
I plop down in a patio chair on my balcony and for the first time in twenty-four hours, I look at my phone. Kate, as usual, is blowing me up (I haven’t told her anything). Iris is asking how my night went (I’ve basically told her everything). I am in the middle of typing out a text to Iris when I hear a knock at the door.
Outside is a man in coveralls, holding a clip board. Next to him is a stack of collapsed boxes. Moving boxes.
“What–” I start to ask.
“Amanda Ambrose?” he interrupts robotically.
“Yes. But–”
“Sign here.” The man shoves the clip board at me. I look down at it. Over at the boxes. Around the hallway.
“I’m not ready to move yet,” I shake my head.
For the first time, he looks at me. “We’re not scheduled to move you until…three days from now? We’re just delivering the boxes. Someone should be here in a few hours to help you with packing as well. This is just the paperwork side of it.”
He wants me to pack already?
This is all going a bit too fast, but I sign anyway. Obviously, I don’t have a choice. Then men take everything inside and walk back out and I am left with a stack of boxes and a spinning head.
No sooner do I press the heels of my hands to my eyes than I hear another knock on the door, followed by its opening.
I spin around in alarm and then my shoulders drop. “Kate. What are you–”
“Where have you been? I have been trying to get a hold of you for days!”
“I’ve been working.”
“Well, it’s Saturday! The 23rd!” She snaps, setting a bunch of bags down on my counter and looking around. She’s in a long,swishy, yellow dress and her hair and makeup are done to the nines. Meanwhile I look like I’m about to go to a yoga class.
“The twenty–oh shit. Your dress trying on party thing.”
“The fitting! Yes! Jesus, it’s like ever since you started this new job you live on some celebrity planet. Except,” her eyes trail over me. “You still look like you. That’s okay, we can fix that. I brought you an outfit.”
Kate grabs one of the bags and ushers me to my bathroom. “I do own clothes you know,” I tell her with little to no enthusiasm.
“Yeah but Jimmy Eat World shirts and ripped shorts don’t exactly scream bridal parlor. Less Wednesday Adams, you know?”
She smiles. I don’t. And she pulls a pink maxi-dress from the bag complete with ruffles around the bottom. “You’re joking, right?”
She just keeps smiling. She’s not joking. She’s also the bride and while she’s acted like she’s been training to be a bride her whole life, bossing me around way more than she should ever have been allowed to, I am too tired to fight her. I swipe the dress out of her hand and shimmy into it.
“Beautiful. God, I forgot how big your tits are. It’s fine though. Now, the hair. Where’s your flat iron?”
I pull it out from under the sink and my sister takes over.
“So, I was thinking seafoam green. Or maybe powder pink? Like a soft blush.”
“For…what?” I ask.
“The bridesmaid dresses. Jesus, Amanda. Have you forgotten your baby sister is getting married?”
