By the Numbers by Jen Lancaster

By the Numbers by Jen Lancaster

Author:Jen Lancaster
Language: eng
Format: mobi, epub
Publisher: Penguin Publishing Group
Published: 2016-03-29T12:48:33+00:00


CHAPTER NINE

October 1987

I’ve made a huge mistake.

Massive. Colossal. Monumental. If errors were racehorses, mine would be the Secretariat of all blunders. What seemed like the best idea ever last night looks awfully different in the pale light of dawn.

Let’s go through the checklist, shall we? I am now:

Unemployed.

Unemployable in my field after having quit in such an unprofessional manner, namely leaving a rambling, drunken message on my boss’s answering machine.

Cheating on my lovely boyfriend.

My God, I am the Triple Crown of fuckups.

What was I thinking?

Sure, yesterday was a bad day, a terrible day, the worst day. And each day before that was no great shakes either.

Fine, I hated what I was doing and I could not see myself with Smith Barney for the long haul. But to be so flighty, so impulsive, to simply take my ball and go home? Max is going to murder me. He can’t stop “casually” mentioning to everyone that his kid’s a stockbroker, even though I’ve yet to execute a single trade on my own.

Max is so cagey about his own past that all of his country club cohorts assume he made his money the same way they did—inheritance. They haven’t a clue that he didn’t finish high school, having lied about his age to start a union carpentry apprenticeship. (And a union member to boot? Bunky Cushman would die!) So having a child with a legitimately blue-blooded career is doubly important to him. Appearances are everything to him and Marjorie. But at some point last night, the tequila convinced me that my happiness takes precedence over his pride.

Oh, boy, Thanksgiving is going to be fun this year.

My head is killing me but not as much as my liver. I’m sure it’s broken. My spleen, too. Is it possible to sprain your kidneys? My throat feels like sandpaper. Was I singing? I vaguely remember singing. I want to take a bath in Gatorade and then brush my teeth with an entire tube of Crest. Possibly some bleach.

Now my question is, what do I do next? I’m sure I can explain away not wanting to be a broker, and I’m certainly employable, given my grades and the various internships I’ve held, but doing what instead?

In the bed next to me, Chris stirs. I look down. I see pajamas were not an option. I wrap the sheet around me like a toga. This was definitely not a garden-variety slumber party. With an ever-so-slight curl of his lip, he appears to be smiling in his sleep.

Damn it, why does he have to be so masculine? So good-looking? He’s still tan, so he’s obviously been working on projects outside. His hair’s been lightened by the sun, and the contrast between the downy blond hair on the nape of his neck and the tawny skin is making me break into a sweat. His back is broader than the last time I saw him, and he has all these new muscles in his arms and shoulders and his obliques and lower .



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