Total pages in book: 152
Estimated words: 145155 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 726(@200wpm)___ 581(@250wpm)___ 484(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 145155 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 726(@200wpm)___ 581(@250wpm)___ 484(@300wpm)
Though I’m looking forward to seeing him this weekend, I know that after Saturday night, the beautiful man in my memories will be dead to me. He has long been dead. It’s just that damn movie screen inside my head keeping him alive, hero-worshipping him. I know this is probably going to be the last week I can dream about him from afar, but reality is a bitch. A bitch that’s going to bite me hard in the ass on Sunday morning. I’m dreading it. It’s like I’ve already started to mourn the loss of him, even though he’s not even mine to lose.
I am on the train, it’s a one-hour trip to work as I purposely looked for a job well out of my zip code. Don’t want to bump into any of my patients at the coffee shop or grocery store. It’s a hassle getting to and from work, but I feel safer having that bit of anonymity away from my patients. In the line of work I do, my patients don’t want to bump into me either so it’s a win-win both ways. I shuffle up the aisle and take a window seat. I lean my head on the window, close my eyes and start to doze. I just need to get through the week. My mind wanders back to the man who haunts me, even in my sleep.
Finally, this week is over; it’s been a marathon just getting through it. I am sitting on the plane waiting to exit at Melbourne airport.
“Why do they take so long to open the doors?” Bridget yawns as she stretches in her seat.
“Hmm, I know,” I answer as I stretch my legs.
Brock, our brother, is sitting across the aisle with our parents and gives me a wink. I love Brock, he is in the navy, a SEAL. He is home in Sydney for three months, which is unusual for him. He’s hardly ever home. You know, off saving the world and all that. He is six two and pure hard-ass, he dotes on Bridge and me. Way over-the-top protective but I kind of like it. Bridge hates it. Brock punched her last boyfriend in the nose at Christmas lunch a couple of years ago. It was hilarious, although Bridge didn’t see the humor. What I didn’t tell her was that if Brock hadn’t done it, I might have. Mark was his name, of course a total wanker. Boy, she sure does attract losers. I smile at the memory.
“What’s so funny?” Bridge asks me. I shake my head. If she only knew what I was thinking about. I finally enter the aisle and Brock grabs me from behind in a headlock and gives me a rough hug.
“Your snoring kept me awake,” he whispers.
I nudge him with my elbow. “Shut up, I don’t snore.”
“Yeah, you do,” he laughs, and he pushes me forward, so I bump into the guy in front of me who turns around and glares at me.
“Sorry, I tripped,” I whisper. He glares at me and continues up the aisle.
I turn around and punch Brock. “Cut it out, how old are you?”
“Let’s go out for dinner on the way to the hotel.” He gestures to Dad to go into the aisle.
“Good idea,” Mum answers. I roll my eyes at Bridge. I want to go straight to bed. I’m exhausted. I’ve had a shit of a day. My most hated patient, Roger, the sex addict, had a two-hour block appointment. Why does the receptionist make those appointments anyway? I will have to put a stop to it. I had to listen to every last detail of his latest orgy. Seriously gross. Why he feels I have to know everything is beyond me. Imagine a 1980s bad porn movie and that is the exact vision of Roger: bad moustache, comb-over, dyed hair, rates himself big-time, overdose on the aftershave that smells more like fly repellent. Seriously, he is beyond help. Gives me a cold shiver just thinking of him. God, I feel sorry for his wife. Imagine having him for a husband and he’s a sex addict who wants it all the time. Shit, it doesn’t get much worse, poor bitch. I wince.
“What’s wrong? Why are you pulling that face?”
I smile and shake my head. “Nothing, I’m tired. Can’t we just get room service?”
“Tash, just lighten the fuck up,” Brock chimes in. “We are on vacation. Chillax will you.”
Five hours later, I lie in bed in my hotel room. It’s the night before the wedding, and my mind wanders. Tomorrow is the day. I’m going to see him. Thank god Bridget and I have a room each or else she would be on to me. I have been tossing and turning for two hours now. I am punching the pillow and changing positions, trying to get comfortable. Trying to calm myself into a slumber. How am I supposed to look tempting with no sleep?