Total pages in book: 100
Estimated words: 98992 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 495(@200wpm)___ 396(@250wpm)___ 330(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 98992 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 495(@200wpm)___ 396(@250wpm)___ 330(@300wpm)
“So…the landscaping?”
“Landscaping the entire campus and caring for the sporting fields. Football, lacrosse, soccer, and field hockey.”
“You know I dated an NHL player right before you and I met?” The corner of her lips tip upward. “He played for the Dalvegan Dragons at the time. They were fucking terrible, but he was fucking amazing in bed.”
She allows me a second giggle.
One minute to breathe before sending me drowning in the past.
“Go on about the football hero. Tell me what happened.”
--
“He’s fucking awful,” Carmen sighs, dropping her cigarette out her car window. “I’ve had and lost bulldogs better housebroken than that piece of shit.”
I giggle at the comment but don’t argue.
Blaze is awful.
And neglectful.
And lazy.
And dumb.
Not even average dumb, which I just sort of expect most guys to be under like twenty-five, but extra fucking dumb. Like “No, You’re Not Smarter Than a First Grader” dumb. And to make matters worse, so are most of his friends. It’s just one giant Ferris Wheel of fucking morons.
I use the tips of my finger to comb my long, straightened hair – hair I keep straightening because she insists it makes me look hotter – up into a high pony. “What can I say? This saving face bullshit comes at a price.”
“Girl that boy is a discount.”
More giggles fall from me, bouncing my moving elbow into the nearby window. “Ou…” I glare at the arm in betrayal. “That’s gonna fucking bruise…”
“You bruise like a banana, Presley.”
“It’s not my fault!” Refocusing on finishing is quickly done. “And neither is this Blaze bullshit. Dating him – as much as I wish I wasn’t – looks good for me right now. He stood up to Ry in front of a literal crowd of people.”
“Yeah, I fucking remember. It’s pretty much the only nice shit he’s ever done for you.”
“People also love the fact that we’re both…underdogs in a way. We’re like two Laney Boggs while Ry and his human toddler Tamagotchi are basically Brock Hudson and Taylor. We are a couple people want to root for. This is good for my rep.”
But bad for my fucking soul.
Then again, I’m not even totally sure I still have one…
Pretty sure when Ry walked away, he took it with him.
I know that I’ll never get it back.
Not that I want it back.
I mean think about it. What’s a better parting gift to the one person in the entire world that I’d die for?
Even now.
Even with an entire acrimonious campus – an English vocab word I actually learned on the day someone drew a dick made out of shaving cream on Ry’s car – I would still give my last breath so that he could have just one more.
Which is absolutely ridiculous.
It’s been almost two months since we split, and I’m still pining for him like he’s the last breadstick on the table during Sunday night dinner.
The good news is that at least things can’t get any worse.
“Yeah, except that good may be a bit of a fucking stretch from where I’m sitting. Maybe doable? Doable is a much fucking better word, especially with Ava,” her chin is tipped the direction of the little red sports car parked directly in front of us, “sniffing around his nuts like the hairy rodent she is.”
“Carmen!”
“That bitch has more hair coming off of her body than my family’s alpaca.”
“Carmen!”
“Why she can’t help herself from camel ho’ing around him is beyond me.”
Me too.
Rather than verbally agree, I reach into my backpack to grab my now vibrating phone.
Ry: Hey you.
Ry: What r u doin?
The pain in my chest is immediate.
Stings like a million bees stabbing me all at once.
God, I wanna answer.
I know I shouldn’t, but I want to.
Am desperate to.
He’s basically texted me every day – multiple times a day – since we had a touching moment – geez, do I miss his hands on me – that we probably shouldn’t have had by the drink vending machine during our marketing class.
Nothing that most would consider romantic but if they knew him like I know him they would see how they were.
Why receiving a text that randomly says “Zebra Question” – a poem by one of my favorite poets – when he sees me in the library returning something is worthy of swooning and bawling alike.
Why getting a picture of the Chicago musical poster that our school is putting on in the middle of math had me giggling that he remembers my top celeb crush before texting back that I wish we could go together on opening night.
He told me we still could.
I had to turn my phone off to resist responding again.
For the most part, I’m pretty good about ignoring him, yet somehow…every once in a while…he strikes at exactly the right moment, in that moment, I’m his all over again.
I opt against answering and exit Carmen’s latest toy SUV her parents bought her to wreck – she’s already totaled three of them – to head for the side gate to the basement where Blaze hangs out with his friends.