Here for the Wrong Reasons by Annabel Paulsen, LYDIA WANG EPUB & PDF – eBook Details Online
- Status: Available for Free Download
- Authors: Annabel Paulsen, LYDIA WANG
- Language: English
- Genre: contemporary romance
- Format: PDF / EPUB
- Size: 2.7 MB
- Price: Free
Krystin isn’t thinking about what she’s supposed to be thinking about. To be
fair, that’s usually the case—but what isn’t usual is her perch in the lefthand corner of the stretch limousine, precariously balancing on her tailbone
so as not to touch her exposed thighs to the vinyl seat. She’s sweating—a
lot—and it’s pooling in inconvenient places, which is raising her already
spiking stress hormones, encouraging her glands to produce even more
sweat. Her heel taps a syncopated rhythm into the floor; any more force, she
thinks, and the stiletto will pierce right through the carpet.
The women around her are chattering nervously, trying to fill up the
long space with their expectations for the night.
“I heard they make you stay up, like, all night,” says Madison, the
twenty-one-year-old waitress from South Florida. “That’s why I brought
Adderall. I had some left over from college.”
“I’m surprised you have any to spare,” mutters the brunette sitting next
to Krystin. She hadn’t caught her name in the introductions.
Krystin wants to laugh, but she also doesn’t want to be a bitch, even
though no one else heard.
“Do Adderall and champagne mix well?” This comes from Sarah-withan-H, a twenty-five-year-old talent acquisition manager from Denver.
Madison thinks. “I figure champagne makes me sleepy, and Adderall
wakes me up, so like, it’ll even out, you know?”
Lily shakes her head, long braids swishing across her shoulders. “That
is not how that works, baby girl.” She laughs into her own flute.
The conversation devolves into snickers, to which Madison is either
oblivious or admirably indifferent. Krystin tries to focus on the jokes, the
dialogues splintering out between the women. She tries to rehearse her
entrance, the lines she perfected in her bathroom mirror, in the car, on the
plane.
She tries to think about anything but what she’s thinking about: her best
friend since seventh grade, Delia. Well, ex-best friend now, but that isn’t the
point. She’s thinking about months ago, when she told Delia that she was
doing this whole thing, how Delia choked on her burrito and spewed a wad
of spit-logged beef onto the dashboard of her Corolla. Krystin had wiped it
up gingerly with a brown paper napkin, dropping it into the to-go bag with
the discarded foil wrappers.
“You’re what?” Delia asked. Then she coughed again. There was
evidently still a grain of cilantro-lime rice stuck in her esophagus.
“I’m going to find love.” Krystin was resolved. She stared ahead,
unblinking, hands steady on the steering wheel despite the car being in
park. “I’m leaving here to find love.”
“No, you’re not.” Delia sucked limeade out of a paper straw. “You’re
going on TV.”
“Those two things are not mutually exclusive.”
“Huh.”
Then they were quiet. They were quiet for most of the burrito’s life,
and then for the car ride home after its death. They were quiet until they
pulled into Delia’s driveway and Krystin didn’t want to be quiet anymore.
“It’s kind of shitty for you to be acting this way.”
Delia snorted. “That’s rich.”
“Frankly, I don’t see what it has to do with you, anyway,” Krystin said.
“That’s multimillion!”
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