Page 47 of Rewrite the Rules

I glance around the room and see reminders of Adler everywhere. I see her sitting on the rug, leaning up against the cushions of the sofa looking like a dream even in faded jeans and a plain cap-sleeve t-shirt.

I miss her. I’m tired. I’m pent up. I’m so fucking confused.

She’s not just my friend. Friends don’t imagine how their friend’s tensed tight slit would engulf their throbbing cock. Which is verbatim a line from the book…that she wrote. And here I am worried about chivalry. Is that even fair? Maybe it’s all a façade. I know Adler—right? She’s the sweetheart with the sunshine smile and the zingy one-liners that make me bust a gut. But this sassy vixen, sex-expert version of Adler? I can resist one or the other. Put the two together, I don’t stand a chance at keeping my feelings at bay.

I’ve respected her space all week. I know she’s still so mad at me for the things I said about her book. She wrote a team email that she copied me on—copied—so I know she got on a flight to Las Vegas for some type of conference. Her email was vague because the team doesn’t know what I know.

What the hell is her deal? What person who can write a best seller like this wants to waste away behind a receptionist desk? Why is she hiding? Although, I should be grateful she’s hiding at this office job. It’s the reason she fell into my life.

I know it isn’t any of my business, but I don’t like this office without her. My days are a mix of busy and bland. I resolve to deny any and all future time-off requests from Adler unless I get to skip town with her. I grab my phone and start typing before I can change my mind.

Me:This is not work related. Please respond.Just let me know you’re alive.

I glare at my phone for the next few minutes, like sheer determination can prompt her response. After what feels like an eternity, my plea is answered. My heart jolts at the quick buzz of my phone. I pounce on the message.

Adler:I’m alive.

Me:Are you sick of my apologies yet?

Adler:Not totally sure. Try me.

Me:The book is really good, Adler. I’m impressed and very proud of you. I’m sorry. I was indeed an ass.

Adler:You read it?

Me:Every single word. I’m reading it again in fact.

Adler:Perv.

Me:What? You wrote the pervy things.

Adler:Does that bother you?

Me:Yes. But not for the reason you think.

Adler:What reason?

Me:I don’t like feeling like I don’t know you.

Adler:I’m in a seminar right now. Someone is giving me the angry eye for texting. Do you want to talk tonight?

Me:Yes.

seventeen

Adler

Iam mere seconds away from slathering the green goop from my conference ‘shwag bag’ onto my forehead when a loud banging at the door makes me jump.Dammit!

The clay-like salve lobs onto the hotel mirror and slides down like a snail, leaving a green trail behind it.Fuckity fucktastic. Ugh!That was thereallygood stuff and the sample jar is so tiny to begin with—there’s nothing left. The standard-sized jar of this mask retails at about three hundred dollars and I was excited to savor my teensyfreetaste of the finer things in life.

I don’t know who is at the door, but they are in big trouble for startling me and making me drop my loot.

Thunk, thunk, thunk!

The pounding at the door continues. It’s probably another drunk Vegas partier mistaking my room for theirs. Some of them are aggressively determined and will continue to swipe their key card over and over despite the buzzer sound of rejection. You’d think the red blinking light conveys a clear message, but I guess you have to forgive stupidity in the city where people bathe in vodka.

I fling open the door. My irritation immediately subsides when I see Tessa’s makeup-free face. Her platinum-blonde hair is thrown up in a sloppy bun. She’s holding a six-pack of beer in each of her hands.

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