Total pages in book: 102
Estimated words: 105306 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 527(@200wpm)___ 421(@250wpm)___ 351(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 105306 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 527(@200wpm)___ 421(@250wpm)___ 351(@300wpm)
It takes my brain several seconds to process the image being thrust in my face, and I see it in fragments: the white cropped hoodie. The black leggings. The familiar long blond hair.
A girl’s ass.
My house.
My porch.
You can’t see my face because Tiffany’s head is blocking whatever expression is hidden there, the image incriminating despite its innocence.
“What. The. Fuck,” I mutter, sitting up, grabbing my brother’s cell. “What the fuck is this? What the fuck is this, Drake?”
“Dude,” is all he says.
“That bitch,” I whisper. “She set me up.”
My brother nods. “Looks like it.”
“That bitch,” I repeat. Look up at Drake. “Ryann is going to murder me.”
thirty-nine
ryann
“Roses are red, violets are blue, I have to use my hand—but I’m thinking of you…” –
Dallas Colter
The news comes from Winnie, who gets her news from Rookie, the fraternity/sorority rumor mill strong.
“Ryann, you know I love you…” she begins, surprising me first by knocking on my apartment door and showing up unannounced—something she never does.
The look on her face says it all: something is wrong.
“What’s going on?” I hold the door open and usher her inside. “Is everything okay with your parents?”
“It’s nothing like that.” But she’s wringing her hands and looks crazy uncomfortable.
“Winnie, what’s wrong?” I take her hands and lead her to the kitchen, pulling two wine glasses out of the cabinet and setting them on the counter. We’re going to need alcohol for this. “I thought you had to work tonight.”
As her best friend, it’s my job to know when she works and when she doesn’t so we know when we can hang out together.
“I did have to work.”
I watch her for a few moments before I pull the wine out of the fridge and uncork it, pouring a glass for her and a glass for me, then I lean forward to give her my undivided attention.
“Winnie, you’re scaring me.”
She takes a deep breath. “I’m sorry.”
“Sorry for what?”
Winnie taps on her cell phone, sliding her finger over the screen this way and that before pushing it across the counter at me. Takes a glass of wine and chugs it, downing the entire thing in one swallow.
My eyes go wide before grasping her phone and holding it up so I can read what’s on the screen.
I see a house and two people on a porch, a blonde and some guy. It looks like they’re making out, but it’s impossible to actually tell because of the angle.
I set Winnie’s phone down.
“I don’t get it.”
She points at the phone. “Look closer.” Pours herself another glass of wine.
And if I wasn’t so confused, I’d laugh at her, how nervous she is and how fidgety, still having no idea why.
House. People. Porch.
House.
People.
Porch.
Blond hair. That porch…
I zoom in on the photograph, moving two fingers apart on Winnie’s screen, trying to make out the figures.
“Winnie, who is this?”
“Click on the link and read the caption.”
I don’t want to.
A pit forms in my stomach, a massive lump settling there, rolling and churning because at that exact moment, the puzzle pieces all click into place in my brain.
“Is that Dallas?” And that neighbor girl? The one who’s always hanging around, making snide comments—the one who’s the third wheel to her friends. But she’s not the third wheel, is she? She’s been waiting, biding her time, wanting a chance with Dallas.
Why now?
“Why is this happening?” I whisper.
Winnie reaches for my hand now that I’ve set the phone down. I had to stop staring.
“Because she’s one of those girls who doesn’t care, and now that he’s being plastered all over the news, she wants her fifteen minutes of fame.”
But it doesn’t use her name in the article, does it? The headline reads: DALLAS COLTER CAUGHT IN A LOVE TRIANGLE WITH MYSTERY BLONDE.
Mystery blonde? Ha.
“Her name is Tiffany, and she lives next door.”
Winnie puts her hand over her mouth, covering her gasp. “No.”
“Yes.” I pause, on the verge of tears. “I wonder how long they’ve been sneaking around.”
“Ryann, maybe this isn’t what it looks like.”
I shake my head. “Please. That’s what everyone says when they get caught. Don’t get caught up in the cliché. Cameras have been following him around all week…he had to have known someone was there taking photos.” I have another thought. “Maybe this is how he’s trying to break up with me.” I look across the counter at Winnie, my wine glass long forgotten. “He was full of shit the other night when he said he wanted to try to make us work.”
“He wouldn’t do that,” she says emphatically, coming to his defense.
I laugh, but it’s not a cheerful laugh; it’s sardonic and angry. “You don’t even know him. You don’t know what he would and would not do.” This time I do pick up the wine glass, slamming the liquid the same way Winnie did, drinking most of it in one gulp. “He’s a guy.”