Imperfect Bastard

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Book: Read Imperfect Bastard for Free Online
Authors: Pamela Ann
even further when I hadn’t received a response back, merely cementing my sentiment that he didn’t feel the same way I did. But, that was all in the past.
    With revived vigor, I softly hummed a tune as I cleaned my dish before retreating back into my room where I opted for a lengthy bath complete with candles, a bath bomb from Lush, and Amy Winehouse’s Back to Black tracks playing in the background. I started off the playlist with “Love is a Losing Game” because her profound sadness was so evident in the song and her soulful voice that it never failed to capture my own melancholy.
    A pleasurable, satisfying sigh escaped my lips the moment my body submerged in the bluish-pink water with the intoxicating scent that instantaneously sent me into a full-on relaxed state of mind. It was blissful, and for the time being, I lavished on that temporary serenity I found within this tiny space, basked with the soft warmth of the candles flickering and Amy’s despondent crescendo.
    By the time I was done with my lengthy bath, I was a wink away from deep slumber, so much so that, after I had toweled my body dry and donned my favorite silk cherry blossom robe, I could barely keep my eyes open. I haphazardly threw myself into bed with a soft smile curling upon my lips before finally succumbing into deep sleep.
    Maybe it was the muffled sound of traffic below as New Yorkers began their day or the early break of sunshine suddenly brightening my room, or it might have been the potently robust aroma of freshly brewed coffee that endlessly teased my senses to awaken from coma. The latter was a surefire answer to what had awakened me before my phone had even begun to shrill it’s deafening alarm of “Seven Nation Army.” Yes, I was one of those folks who could not function before coffee was in their system. Anyone advocating the limitation of caffeine intake due to heart disease and yada, yada had never fully experienced the joy of jumpstarting one’s day with an aromatic cup of medium roast blend that perked up one’s senses similar to sexual arousal. And since I very well couldn’t enjoy the morning sex part given the singlehood situation, an excellent coffee should suffice to curb those lecherous cravings.
    Sex and coffee … I was losing it.
    “I need to get a life,” I softly mumbled as slowly rolled out of bed, yawning, and during mid-yawn, my eyes instantly spotted the venti coffee and the small pink box.
    I wouldn’t lie. My heart stammered against my chest as I nervously gazed at the lusciously enticing combo. Whoever was the culprit, they unquestionably knew how to play with my vices.
    Without putting up much of a fight, my shameless hands fastened around the sweet pink token that held something I had ignored ever since I had realized sugar made me a chunky monkey, a term that referenced my once favored ice cream. I was again encountering the same witchery my sweet teeth always cast on me as I slowly lifted the lid of the small box with the words “I’m sorry” written on it.
    Four cupcakes greeted me—two chocolates and two bananas.
    Who in their right mind would be creative enough to apologize through cupcakes? It couldn’t be Jackson since we were fine, so that left one person, the one who had walked out on me, leaving me with words yet a hurt that lasted forever.
    This wasn’t fair. Surely, he couldn’t say such things to me and expect me to forgive me just because he made a cute effort by getting me cupcakes, which he would have had to wake up early to procure with the rest of the millennials in line for their morning dose of addiction. All that effort … Did he know I was heading to school today? Of course he did, that sneaky bastard. The pun was unintentional.
    Pulling the box close to my face, I closed my eyes and inhaled the decadent aroma of chocolate with whipped chocolate frosting sprinkled with dark chocolate powder, mixed with the tropical smell of perfectly smashed ripened bananas, mixed with

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