The Break-Up Psychic Read Online Free

chip. I stare at it in disbelief and try to recall when my drunken resolution met paper during the night. “When did I write this?”
    “At about four o’clock this morning, after your visit to the porcelain God. You wrote on the back of my cosmetology application, thank you very much. I only signed the damn thing to get you to shut up.”
    “Well,” I say, drawing myself up to my full height, “I mean it. I’m done being a magnet for lousy men. This paper is a contract. It represents the start of my new life.” I finish this sentence with as much bravado as I can muster given the fact that I’m wearing a pink polka-dot mini dress. I may’ve been drunk when I resolved to give up dating my ‘type,’ but that doesn’t mean it’s a bad idea.
    “Listen, Ellie, you know I love you. Hell, a few more bad dates and you might start looking pretty good to me yourself, but you and I both know how much you love those bad boys. You just can’t help yourself.”
    “Well, I’ve changed,” I say, following Luanne to the door, gathering my jacket and purse from the arm of the sofa on the way. “This is the first day of new Ellie. I’m not going to give my heart away to the wrong man ever again,” I declare as we walk into the hallway.
    Luanne uses her key to lock the door and throws a raised eyebrow in my direction. “You better knock on some wood, honey. That sounds like an invitation for trouble to me.”
    “It’s going to be fine. You’ll see.”
    As I step forward to follow Luanne to the stairs, I reach out and gently knock on the apartment’s door. Just in case.

    The thing about working at Brook’s Bath and Body Shop is that I get to indulge in the best bath and body products around for a substantial discount. Bubble bath, skin creams and perfumes can all be mine for thirty percent off. Tim loved the way I smelled after coming home from work. He said it was like living with a bouquet of flowers. Stupid Tim. I bet Suzy smells like tanning lotion and Botox.
    Today I have the happy job of taking inventory of the stockroom. Let’s see, we have three containers of lavender and vanilla body cream, four bottles of ‘A Rose by Another Name’ body mist, and one good for nothing ex-boyfriend who has yet to call and beg my forgiveness. Not that I want him to call. If he calls, I won’t answer. I won’t help him relieve his guilty conscience. The fact that he hasn’t called so that I can ignore him and punish him with my indifference doesn’t bother me at all. I mean, one might assume that screwing a downstairs neighbor rates an apologetic text message at least, but I don’t care. At this point, he could send a handwritten apology letter, written on parchment paper and delivered by carrier pigeon, and I still wouldn’t give him the satisfaction of—
    “Hey, Ellie, I think you’re murdering that loofah .” Amber, donning her usual uniform of a black dress and spiky metal accessories, is standing in the doorway watching as I squeeze and twist the life out of a top-selling bath sponge.
    “Amber! Yes, well, I was just…uh…I mean, I was testing the resilience of this loofah . No one likes a poorly made sponge when they’re trying to remove dead skin cells.”
    Amber looks down at her chipped manicure, bored with me. “Whatever. Brook’s here. She brought in a new line of body powders that taste like food. She’s looking for your superior palate to decide which products to stock. Take my advice. Go for the kidney-pie flavor.”
    Amber’s always been an enigma to me. Brash, sarcastic and gloomy, you wouldn’t think of her as a natural salesman, but people inevitably buy everything she suggests. Personally I think it’s her blunt honesty, but I can’t rule out witchcraft.
    “Brook’s here?” I moan. “I thought she wasn’t coming back until next week?”
    “I guess her little sex siesta with the ‘King of Kars’ Karl didn’t turn out as she planned.” Amber takes a step toward me and smiles.