That Man 2 Read Online Free Page B

myself out of bed on Friday morning. I’d had a feverish, restless night of sleep. Not because of any damn flu. Jennifer McCoy was in my blood like the plague.
    I stayed in bed all day. I opened that Beautiful Stranger book and read a few random pages. Of course, I’d have to pick the part where they kiss for the first time. I slammed the book shut and pulled the duvet up over my head and then jerked myself off. Would I ever be able to tell Jennifer McCoy that I was the beautiful stranger who she’d kissed blindfolded in a game of Truth or Dare?
    At five o’clock, I heard the door to my apartment click open. Only one person had the keys. My mother. One short minute later, she was striding into my room with my grandmother by her side. Both were wearing jogging outfits, my mother’s from overpriced Lululemon, and my Grandma’s from now defunct Loehmann’s.
    “Darling, how are you feeling?” asked my mother, tidying things up.
    “Eh,” I grumbled.
    The good Jewish mother she was, she immediately reached inside her monstrous designer purse and pulled out a thermometer. It was the old-fashioned mouth kind.
    She hovered over me. “Open up, darling. Let’s see if you have a temperature.”
    Reluctantly, I opened my mouth, and she shoved the glass column under my tongue. I pressed my lips together and made a face. I felt like I was fucking five-years-old again. I counted the seconds until she pulled it out.
    She brought it to her eyes. “Ninety-eight point six. No fever, dear.”
    “Fever shmever,” chimed in my grandmother. “I’ve brought you Jewish penicillin. My delicious chicken matzo ball soup.”
    I remembered today was Friday. Shabbat. I definitely wasn’t up for going to my parents’ house. Especially dealing with my whacked-out sister and obnoxious twin nephews.
    “I’ll go heat it up,” said my mother, taking a shopping bag from my grandmother. She waltzed out of my bedroom, leaving me alone with Grandma.
    “So, bubbela, vhere does it hurt?”
    “Right here, Grandma.” I clutched my heart like I was having a heart attack. The pain was palpable.
    She eyed my lower torso and pointed at my pecker. “And vhat about the schmekel?”
    “It’s numb,” I replied glumly. Trust me, there was no pulse.
    “Flu shmu . Bubbela, you’ve fallen for someone.” Grandma winked. “I bet it’s that nice haymisha girl you brought to the house.”
    I grimaced. How the hell did she know? I nodded listlessly.
    “Finally. You bring me some naches. Have you shtumped her?”
    Only my audacious Grandma would want to know if I’d fucked her. I shook my head.
    “ Vhat are you vaiting for?”
    “Grandma, I can’t. Remember? She’s engaged.”
    Grandma made a disgusted phlegmy sound and dismissively waved her veined hand at me. Before I could say another word, my mother reappeared with a piping hot bowl of soup on a silver tray.
    Grandma jumped in. “Bubbela, have a bissel . Chicken soup is good for the soul.” She winked at me again. “And the shmeckel too.”
    My mother set the tray down on my lap. With a spoon, I took a sip of the delicious broth. Two hours later, I was back to my old self on a plane heading to Las Vegas.

Chapter 5
    Jennifer
    T he days following the incident with Don Springer were beyond awful. I regressed to having nightmares. The ones that had haunted me in college. Always the same. A faceless monster attacking me. Knocking me to the cold ground. Groping and squeezing my breasts and between my thighs. Snipping my hair. Me fighting him off. Writhing. Screaming. The monster roaring cunt, cunt, cunt. Over and over until my eyes flashed open, and I found myself drenched in cold sweat.
    But it was more than just the nightmares. I felt a terrible aloneness. Bradley, with whom I didn’t share the Springer encounter, was working long hours and hardly had time for me; I guess his practice was booming. And Blake was home sick with the flu that had been going around the office. His stoic secretary,