Total pages in book: 66
Estimated words: 63638 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 318(@200wpm)___ 255(@250wpm)___ 212(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 63638 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 318(@200wpm)___ 255(@250wpm)___ 212(@300wpm)
“So I get to the restaurant: candlelight, wine, the whole nine yards.”
Mia sips her coffee, nodding. “Romantic. Promising. Continue.”
I roll my eyes. “Yeah, but the vibe lasts all of five minutes. The moment I sit down, he spends more time scrolling his phone than looking at me. I swear I could’ve walked out and he wouldn’t have noticed until dessert.”
“Oof. That bad?” she winces.
“Oh, worse. He barely asked me anything about myself. When I tried to start a real conversation, he gave one-word answers. And get this: when the waitress comes over, he flirts with her.”
“Men are an actual disease.” She mock gags.
“Right?” I throw up my hands. “I thought maybe I was imagining it, but no. Full-on charming the waitress while I sat there like an idiot.”
Mia shakes her head. “Please tell me you ditched him.”
I sigh. “I should have. But instead, I made the mistake of thinking, ‘hey, maybe if I freshen up, I can salvage the night.’”
Mia groans, already understanding.
“Yeah. I went to the bathroom, took my time, reapplied my lip gloss—”
“Like the queen you are.”
“Exactly. And when I come back?” I pause and gesture toward the now-empty table.
Mia’s eyes widen.
“No.”
“Oh, yes.” I let out a humorless laugh. “The man was gone.”
Mia slaps the table. “Shut. Up.”
“He just disappeared. Like a fucking magician. Poof. Vanished. Gone.”
She stares at me for a long second, then bursts out laughing.
I cross my arms, glaring. “I fail to see what’s funny.”
Mia wheezes. “Oh, come on. That’s so bad it’s almost impressive. Like, how do you sneak out in the middle of a date without a word?”
I groan, shaking my head. “I don’t know! I was so pissed.”
“So, what did you do?” she asks, wiping tears of laughter from her eyes.
I smirk. “Oh, I sent him a very angry text.”
“Good. Drag his ass.” She claps.
“Yeah.” I pause dramatically. “Except, uh, I had the wrong number.”
Mia stares blankly, like a deer in headlights, then leans forward so fast her coffee almost spills. “I’m sorry, what?”
I shift in my seat, suddenly feeling warm.
Mia narrows her eyes. “Nicole. Who did you text?”
I clear my throat. “A stranger.”
Her jaw drops. “Oh my God! Wait, wait.” She holds up a hand. “You’re telling me you accidentally texted a random guy to cuss him out.”
I nod.
“And instead of ignoring you, he answered?”
I nod again.
Mia slaps the table a second time. “Tell. Me. Everything,” she demands, leaning in, her eyes practically shining with excitement.
I tell her about Sergei’s cocky texts, how he turned the whole situation into a flirtation, like it was effortless. How, against my better judgment, I kept texting him back. And then I tell her about the date. The way he watched me like he was undressing me with his eyes. The way the attraction between us was instant, electric, suffocating.
Mia is enraptured.
“And then?” she demands.
I hesitate. She sees my expression and gasps.
“Nicole Sullivan, did you sleep with him?”
I stare at my coffee.
Mia squeals.
The couple at the next table glances over, startled.
I bury my face in my hands. “Mia,” I groan.
“I knew it!” she hisses, just above a whisper. “I knew the moment you walked in here looking all post-sinful and guilty!”
“I do not look post-sinful.”
She cackles. “Oh, babe. You reek of hookup sex. So was it good?”
I don’t answer fast enough. Mia gasps, slapping my arm. “It was! Oh my God!”
I bite my lip, cheeks warming.
She grins. “It was the best sex you’ve ever had, wasn’t it?” Naturally, she’s right.
“Nope, I’m not having this conversation.” I shake my head.
“Oh, come on!”
I sip my coffee, smirking.
She glares at me, but I can see the genuine happiness in her eyes. Because she knows me. She knows I’ve been in a rut, and my dating life has been drier than the Sahara Desert. For once, though, I did something reckless, and I don’t regret it.
Mia leans back in her chair, shaking her head. “So, what now? Are you gonna see him again?”
I hesitate. The answer should be no. But the truth is I have no idea.
I don’t want to think about Sergei. I don’t want to remember the way his hands felt on me, the way he looked at me with that dark, hungry expression.
I don’t want to admit that, two days later, I can still feel him. Instead, I plaster on a smirk. “Nope. It was just fun.”
Mia studies me. “You sure?”
I sip my coffee. “Positive.”
Mia keeps talking—something about living more, overthinking less, and maybe letting go of my chronic need for control. She’s probably right, but I’m not listening.
Something outside the café catches my attention. I don’t know why I notice them at first. New York City is full of people, full of men like them. Spotting a group of well-dressed men who look like they belong in a Sylvester Stallone movie isn’t uncommon.
Still, this group stands out. It’s the way they hold themselves—the controlled, effortless power as they linger on the sidewalk, completely unfazed by the city’s chaos swirling around them.