Page 53 of Rim Job

I wanted there to be something real between us so badly. I wanted my drunken mistake to be justified. I thought maybe drunk Christina, with no rules, no life list, no morals, had actually taken a gamble and made a good decision. I convinced myself Rim felt the same.

Shit, was I ever wrong.

I gambled on love, and I lost.

Typical. I don’t know shit about gambling.

It was all pretend for him. I see that now. Play the doting husband, get laid, get out of an arranged marriage. I'm not certain what I expected, but standing here, my back against the door as Rim bangs on the other side, pleading for me to listen, wasn't on my agenda today. Tears slide down my cheeks.

I raise my hand to rub at the pain in my chest.

It doesn’t help.

I grab my phone out of my clutch and do the only thing I can think to do.

Please answer.

I dial the number I know by heart. I wait with a lump in my throat as it rings.

The ringing stops.

“Glory, I need to borrow Beck's jet.”

27

CHRISTINA

“What are we reading for next week?” Glory asks as she picks up a tray of left-over appetizers from this week’s book club.

Jen sets the final wine glass in the drying rack. “I'm up for something dark. It's been a while since we've read one for book club.”

I sit here on my couch like a useless lump.

In the two weeks since I left Rim, he's called, he’s messaged…I just can't bring myself to talk to him. I don't need to hear how sorry he is and that he's chosen Isadora.

Evelyn nods. “It needs to have anal. How do we make sure there's anal?”

The girls laugh. I'd normally laugh too, but I think I'm broken.

Rim broke me. He did a Rim Job on me.

Fuck, I wish that could be funny.

The girls have been my rocks. Glory had Beck send his jet for us the moment I called. Since then, Glory and Beck have come back from their honeymoon, and she and Kelly have been manning the bookstore.

Going back to work tomorrow for the first time since coming home; I'm ready, or as ready as I'm going to be.

Beside me, my phone rings. The girls go silent as they look at me. I fumble under my blanket until I locate my phone.

It's him.

Shit.

His name flashes to life across the screen. Tears sting my eyes, but I don't let them fall. I have to talk to him at some point. There's the matter of our annulment, but today, is not that day. I send it to voicemail.

A few seconds later, the voicemail notification chimes.

“Was it him again?” Evelyn asks.

---