Finding Mr. Right by Tilly Pope

Author:Tilly Pope [Pope, Tilly]
Language: eng
Format: epub
Publisher: Tilly Pope
Published: 2019-12-14T16:00:00+00:00

7

Emily

Today has to be a full day of writing.

I tell myself I will roll out of bed, take a shower, get my butt in that chair, and write. No distractions. No more putting it off.

The problem is, I’m still in bed. I have a mild headache that’s been teasing me for the past hour, and I’m lethargic and tired. All symptoms of a hangover. I don’t remember drinking that much, oddly enough. Not enough for this headache, anyway, but I do remember the course of events that led me to the bar in the first place, and the hot AF man I went there with.

Ryan. Damn. He’s such a good man, but we both agreed the perfect man doesn’t exist. I’m distracted, to put it mildly. My dreams were filled with Ryan, and my mind keeps replaying random moments from the day before. It’s been happening all morning and I can’t spur myself into action. Eventually, help comes in the form of an irritated rapping on my bedroom door and I grunt when I hear Gracie’s voice on the other side.

“Someone here to see you,” she announces. I know that tone of voice. What she’s really saying is, “Maybe next time, get the damn door yourself.” Gracie has had to pull extra shifts at the clinic where she works, and it’s made her a little grumpier than usual, which is saying something. She isn’t exactly a ray of sunshine at the best of times.

“I’ll be right out!” I reply, pulling myself up. I swing my legs out and stand…slowly, and I’m relieved when the room stops spinning. I walk to the bathroom and cringe when I catch my reflection in the mirror. My hair is a mess and I look like I’ve been tussling in a field of tall grass. My face is pallid, way paler than usual, throwing the freckles around my nose and cheeks into sharp focus.

I forgot to take off my make-up before going to bed, so there are lipstick smudges around my mouth, and the dark shades that had been my eye shadow is smeared around my eyes and temples. I reach over to turn the tap on, and that’s when I see it. There’s something on the inside of my left arm. Something I recognize seconds later as writing. It appears to be random digits…then the memory jars loose and I remember Ryan taking my wrist and writing his phone number on it.

“Just in case,” he said.

That’s when it hits me. It could be him at the door and I look like this? The frustration gives way to a slow fluttering in my stomach and I run back out to my bedside table to grab my phone. My fingers are clumsy as I enter the number and save it. I head back to the bathroom and turn on the tap. I splash a few handfuls of water on my face, and when that does nothing to improve it, I take a wet towel to it.

I don’t have much time, so I settle for normal.

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