July (Calendar Girl #7) Read Online Free PDF

I read Wes’s message again. He’d be here in two weeks. My birthday was July 14th. Bastille Day.
    Figured I’d better get this over with.
    To: Wes Channing
    From: Mia Saunders
    Ginelle should have kept her mouth shut. You really don’t have to come. I’ll be fine. I love that you’re thinking of me.
    Love? There’s that damn word again. Love. Did I love Wes? Truly? I didn’t know. Maybe. Probably. Possibly. It was definitely not something I had any business thinking about when I was with yet another client. One that true to Gin’s words, was a mocha colored hunk of yumminess. And also a player . Then again, wasn’t I? I’d been with Wes, Alec, and Tai, and here I sat in another rich man’s apartment considering how fuckable he was.
    Lightning fast, I pulled up my Internet app and typed in the word Player . Google helpfully supplied the following.
     

     
    Not the type of player definition I was going for. Just under that definition was a link to a different website named “Urban Dictionary.” I clicked the link.
    player
    A male who is skilled at manipulating (“playing”) others, and especially at seducing women by pretending to care about them, when in reality they are only interested in sex.
    Hmm, is the term player only used to describe males? My get-out-of-jail-free-card holding side wants to cash in that coupon as fast as you can say go, collect my two hundred dollars and buy Park Place. Unfortunately, my self-loathing, guilty conscience wouldn’t allow me to think so highly of myself. That niggling simpering twit within had me visiting Wikipedia. It never let me down before.
    The first definition said it all in black and white, noting exactly what I feared.
    Player may refer to:

Player (dating) , a man or woman who has romantic affairs or sexual relations or both with other women or men but will not marry or commit to any one relationship
     
    That was all I needed to see. Confirmed. Mia Saunders, honey, you are a PLAYER.
    ***
    After spending an ungodly amount of time scalding my skin to a tantalizing and oversensitive pink hue, I made my way up to the elevator. The text I’d received from Heather directed me to dress casually and meet Anton on the roof. Why the roof, I had no idea, but I was on their dime, so followed the request without response. It had been an hour since my text to Wes, and he hadn’t yet responded. I didn’t know what I wanted him to say. Would he push back and force his way into my heart? A part of me wanted that so badly I could hardly breathe. Another part of me wanted to continue with the way our relationship was, at least for now. No expectations, no rights to one another, just friends. With benefits.
    Friends with benefits.
    Was that the relationship I really wanted with Wes? My Wes? Shit. And when did he become my Wes ? I suspected somewhere between admitting I was falling in love with him and thinking of home being California. No, not just California. His place in Malibu. That’s where I felt most like myself. Free to just be Mia.
    With a snarl, I smashed the elevator button so hard my thumb smarted. I shook it out and watched the numbers climb. Why now? After dealing with a shitty experience, licking my wounds in Boston with Rach and Mace, to come here, find a hot guy who is overt in showing his appreciation for me, or at least my body, and everything builds up to this? Had it always been coming to this point? Where I felt as though my emotions and fears were simmering like lava under the Earth’s surface, a volcano that could erupt at any moment?
    The elevator dinged and I was catapulted into a very strange world. Plants, trees and the humid air blasted against my skin, making it hard to breathe. The humidity was so thick you could cut it like a pat of butter.
    “Jesus...” I swallowed reflexively trying to bite back the fish-out-of-water feeling.
    “ Lucita ! Over here.” I heard Anton call but only saw a man’s form, a blur of white as he moved from plant to