Total pages in book: 58
Estimated words: 56107 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 281(@200wpm)___ 224(@250wpm)___ 187(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 56107 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 281(@200wpm)___ 224(@250wpm)___ 187(@300wpm)
After two months, Sofie had had it and outed the dudes on social media. She told everyone that they didn’t need to pay $2.99 a month to find meaning in their lives. They just had to steer clear of dickheads who make apps called Pimp My Soul. After that, she had so many people reaching out to her for advice, she started her life-coaching business and wrote a book. I’m Here to Help. (And I’m not from the Government.) She made the New York Times list for three straight weeks. Her business took off.
Like I said, lucky fucking charm.
What’s worse is that she’s a solidly decent and wonderful person. She practically glows with humility, warmth, and graciousness. It’s impossible not to love her! Or not to root for her. Or wish that she was the sister I never had growing up as a single child in a household of two workaholics.
“Ugh! Mila. Enough. You are not a loser. You’re reliable, smart, and independent. Maybe too independent.” She groans. “You’re staying with me. We are going on this trip.”
“But—”
“It’s not for you, Mila. It’s for me. I neeeed this trip. I’ve been working nonstop for months, and when I closed my eyes last week, I asked for a sign. How could I unwind and recapture my energy? I saw this happening, and now it’s happened.”
“You meditated and saw Jamaica.” I don’t believe her.
“No. I got an eyelash stuck under my eyelid, and while I was waiting for it to clear out, I did some manifestation whining, a new thing I’ve been experimenting with. You whine for what you want, thereby humbling yourself to the universe. I think I’m onto something.”
Of course. She whines and gets an all-expenses-paid trip to paradise handed to her. I don’t whine and end up with a shitty apartment, shittier job, and no dick in my life except for Dick. I have to turn this sinking ship around. But how?
“Please say yes, Mila?” she whines.
“Your whining experiment, I presume?”
“Did it work?”
I play mind Ping-Pong for a few seconds. I want change in my life. I need it. Maybe that starts by throwing caution to the wind for once?
“Yes, I’ll go. I’ll come over after I wash all my stuff.” No need to carry the stench to her place.
“Yippy! You won’t regret this, Mila!”
Oh, I’m pretty sure I will. She’ll probably strike gold while we’re there or find some hot billionaire to marry. But who can say no to their wonderfully positive and loving best friend? Not me. Because, after all, she is the one person in this world who has my back.
CHAPTER THREE
We’re standing in line at the hotel’s open-air reception, which is filled with potted palms swaying in the tropical breeze, when something catches Sofie’s eye.
“I’m totally going to fuck that waiter,” she says, looking deceivingly virginal in her flowy white sundress and matching white sandals.
I don’t see which waiter she’s talking about, and I couldn’t care less. “How can you be thinking of sex right now? It’s so hot here. My boob sweat is out of control.” I tug on the front of my lame Beach Princess T-shirt, complete with a glittery pink tiara image on the back, which I acquired in the bargain bin at the drugstore back home. To complete my look, I’m wearing a black skirt I bought for work and pink dollar-store flip-flops. I look like a thirty-two-year-old trying to pass for fifteen.
“How can I not be thinking of sex?” she says. “This tropical weather is so silky. Really gets me all juicy.”
Ew.
“Sofie,” I say, fanning my face with my hand, “we’ve only been here two minutes. Let’s get settled in before you start hunting victims for your sexual perversions.”
We literally just arrived in the hotel shuttle after a three-and-a-half-hour flight and a very relaxing champagne buffet in first class. That wide seat was the most pampering I’ve had in years. I wonder if I can buy one with my insurance money. I make a mental note to google “first class airline chair for home.” Then I add: “With built-in champagne feeding tube.”
“What can I say? I’m on a mission, and I know what I like.” She lowers her extra-large sunglasses to continue drinking in the waiter, who’s handing out fruity cocktails with tiny umbrellas. He has dark skin, muscles for days, and hazel eyes that glow from across the room.
That guy? “And I can spot a player when I see one.”
“Oh really?” she purrs salaciously, barely paying attention to me.
“Just look at those dimples.” I jerk my head toward the man. “And that smile. He’s clearly getting laid around the clock.”
Sofie shrugs. “Then why shouldn’t he be fucking me? Two consenting adults. Safely exploring each other’s bodies. Reveling in the fact that our stars will only cross for a handful of hours, and therefore we should cherish the ecstasy blessed upon us by the cosmos.”