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)
Ry: Almost hit ur glasses?
Ry: U kno I love that shit.
Ry: Fuck I miss you and ur glasses.
I sink my teeth into my bottom lip just seconds before another text flies in.
Ry: Is your face now doin that shit where you scrunch ur nose to stop from smilin’?
Ry: Cuz I love it when you do that shit too.
“Who the fuck is that blowin’ up spot?” Blaze snaps at the same time he reaches for my phone.
“Do. Not. Ever. Touch. My. Fucking. Phone.” I harshly state and tuck it into the hot pink tank top I wore under my unform shirt today. “And don’t ask me that type of shit again.”
“Fo’ real?”
“For real, Blaze. You have to earn the right for those answers.”
“But you’re my girl, ma.”
“Maybe you should learn to fucking act like it then.” New waves of adrenaline pump through my veins pushing me up onto my feet. “What do you say, Carmen? Benny’s Burgers?”
She excitedly hops up. “God, yes. I can smoke on the patio, and the bartender will let us drink for free.”
--
“Gonna just bypass the serving minors in public bullshit…” Katherine hits me with a small disapproving look, although I’m not sure if it’s because my friend at the time was drinking underage or if it’s because she didn’t get served underage in public. “Did Blaze treat you that way often?”
“About ninety percent of the time.”
“And the other ten?”
“He was a completely different person. Sweet. Little goofy. Someone I didn’t mind hanging around. However, like me back then, none of that mattered. All that mattered was what you were selling. The image you had created, and the things you did or were willing to do to maintain it.”
“Life as an adult isn’t much different in that aspect, darling. Quite often we create personas at work or in our social lives and then feed into them.”
Her words whittle away the hope I had that I had grown out of doing at least those toxic things.
Maybe I have?
Maybe I do it in a healthy way now?
Ugh.
I could really use a cinnamon roll right about now.
“Darling, it’s totally human nature to do those types of things. I could give you a long-winded speech on survival traits and techniques, the lizard brain, and social adaptations; however, you haven’t told me how you lied for love or protect love or about the cheating, either. Texting an ex-boyfriend isn’t cheating. It’s not the classiest move, but it’s far from the scandalous shit you were saying.”
“The texting was just how it started…”
--
My phone continues to vibrate across my bed lighting up with another text from Ry.
He’s been just chatting away since the second I got home.
I texted him that I was busy and would send him a message when I got home.
And then I did.
He used the one-word announcement as a go sign to just ramble away like old times.
For over an hour, I’ve gotten just a nonstop, smile-inducing set of commentary regarding the show Laguna Beach, and the occasional suggestion that we go over the summer. That we road trip over to Cali or Florida or all the way down to Cancun in Mexico. He paints fantasies I want more than my next breath while I try to keep myself distracted by doing homework.
Ry: I wanna see you Pres.
I stare at the words I’m not sure I can resist.
Ry: Fuck it. I NEED to see you baby.
Ry: Please.
My fingers twitch to touch the keys, but I fight against it.
Pick up a nearby cracker and munch down on it instead.
Ry: Come on…
Ry: I’m throwin myself at the mercy of the court your honor.
Giggling causes the crumbs to fall all across my bed.
Ry: Made ya laugh.
Ry: Come on Pres.
Ry: PLEASE.
Reluctantly, I reply.
Me: Where?
Me: You know I don’t have a car.
Me: And you know if you try to pick me up that my brother is gonna try to bash u r face in.
Ry: I knew he hated me.
Me: He did after hearin me cry myself to sleep more than once.
Ry: I fucking hate that.
Ry: And I hate ME for that.
I hate him for it too, but it doesn’t stop the love in my heart from waking back up.
Ry: Meet me at the park down the road from u r house. The one where we had a picnic for our one-month anniversary.
The reference causes me to coo at the memory.
Ry: 10 min.
Me: Okay.
A mad rush of mixed emotions has me flying out of my bed and hitting the same elbow I did earlier during the process.
Yup.
Definitely gonna bruise.
Over at my full-length mirror, I admire the parts of my outfit that were paired with my uniform shirt today . The tank top is tight and sexy and “please stare at my cleavage” worthy while the dark jeans are nothing special. Should they be special? Should I change? Is this something special? Is this the moment I’ve been waiting for? That fairy tale one where I get swooped off my feet like I’m in a real-life version of one of my favorite movies?!