Page 13 of The Seven Month Itch
That catches me off guard. “I guess I haven’t.”
“Well, you should.”
Chapter 6
Justice
Sunlight greets me through a large window. Even with the drapes pulled closed on either side of the four-poster bed, it’s deceptively hot, given today’s high will be a balmy ten degrees.
Yeah, no thanks.
I tug the duvet to my chin, wrap myself in the rare bliss of sleeping in on a Monday, and moan into the pillow. Last night’s mixer couldn’t end fast enough. Who knows when the thing was over. I hightailed it out of there after my run-in with Terrence and the brunette.
The thought of him with another woman in the same hotel turned my stomach. It still does. We’re over, but that doesn’t mean I need to watch him find my replacement in real time.
Emma was nowhere to be found when my nerves got the best of me, so I took it as a sign to head back to our suite. My “happy ending” included a bottle of Riesling, scallops in a white-wine sauce, andFull Housereruns until I fell asleep.
No reality show holds a candle to last night’s mixer. People chased each other like wild animals ready to mate in a Nat Geo special. Malibu Ava and her merry band of mean girls got into a shouting match over a guy who faded into a wall of plants, only to make his escape off the balcony. Thank God we were on the second floor.
Speaking of escapes, where’s Emma?
Either the pleasures of the plushest bedding to ever grace my skin have thrown off my Spidey-sense, or she never came back to the room.
Me:Hey. About to order room service for breakfast. Want anything?
When I get a response, it’s safe to say an egg-white omelet isn’t on her mind.
Emma:Hey, hon. Worked up an appetite last night the menu won’t satisfy. See you at lunch. xo
Someone had a good night.
At this rate, I’ll be the neighborhood cat lady with a lifetime supply of knitted socks by my fortieth birthday—in six years. Nuns probably see more action than I do, and I refuse to go out like that. It’s time to give dating a go.
After I eat.
I call room service and order breakfast for one. Today is a new day, and I plan to seize it. What the heck did Emma sign me up for again?
I sit upright to dull the tightness in my chest. We’re here forseven days.Seven. Parts of last night—Terrence madness excluded—are a blur. Ithoughtmy registration was okay, but the vodka cranberries Em made before the mixer lowered my inhibitions. Add in those two manhattans, and I could’ve agreed to sell my cheeks on the street.
I peel myself from my king-size bed and head to the common area. It’s ridiculous how beautiful this place is. My room ishalf the size of my apartment and deserves its own spread inArchitectural Digest. There’s a chandelier over my bed, for goodness’ sake.
After a quick scan of the living area, I zero in on my registration packet on the coffee table. Please don’t let anything insane be in there.
Get a grip and read the itinerary. It’s not laced with anthrax.
Snowmobiling.
Horseback riding.
Spa day.
Whiskey tasting.
Private movie.
These aren’t bad. Good whiskey hits the soul, I’m so-so on a horse, and I live for a movie night. Em knows my fear of crashing into a tree on skis, so a snowmobile is up my alley. There’s even a ’90s party tonight.
We can work with this.
