Total pages in book: 101
Estimated words: 104745 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 524(@200wpm)___ 419(@250wpm)___ 349(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 104745 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 524(@200wpm)___ 419(@250wpm)___ 349(@300wpm)
Because I’m still deciding what to think about all this, if I’m being honest.
If it makes you feel any better—so am I.
nineteen
drake
I’m not usually sarcastic to girls I just met, but you have a great sense of humor.
How the hell am I supposed to convince my brother to stay home from class so I can take his place, yet again? There is no logical reason for me to go to a class that is not mine.
Literally none.
I feel like an asshole having this conversation, but there can be no other way. If Drew goes to class, and Daisy wants to sit next to him—or worse, tries to flirt or get affectionate because she and I kissed last night—I’m fucked.
If I go to class and continue pretending to be him, I’m drawing out the lie.
It is a no-win situation.
Not all my fault, though; if the stubborn bastard would have gone on a date with her like I’d wanted him to, this wouldn’t be an issue.
Technically, he is partly to blame.
“Dude, what’s your problem? Did you suddenly discover your love of mass communication? Stop being weird.”
I couldn’t stop being weird even if I wanted to.
“I’m just used to it now, and I’m learning so much,” I lie through my teeth, unable to look him in the eye.
“You’ve gone twice. You can’t be used to it by now, and besides, you have your own classes to worry about.” He sets about ignoring me, shoving things into his backpack—snacks and the like—getting ready for class.
Without me.
“Are you sure?” I try again. “It wouldn't be a problem.”
He stops doing what he's doing and looks at me again. “Dude, what is your problem for real? You're being weird.”
“You're the one who sounds like a broken record. I'm just trying to help you out.” More lies.
“I don't have time for this. I'm already late.”
We both know that's not true, but I can't keep getting in his way or he's going to lose his shit, my brother—who is always so even-keeled—looks as if he's finally had enough of my nonsense.
Drew slings a bag over his shoulders and gives me one last glance before he pushes through the front door and lets it slam behind him. I wonder if something else is bothering him because he is so short with me. Yes, I'm being annoying. And yes, I'm being obnoxious. But none of this is new; I'm always annoying and obnoxious.
Always.
I hear the door to the truck open, then close.
I watch out the window as he backs down the driveway and heads to campus. My stomach roils as he drives away, filling with dread.
Shit.
This isn't going to end well.
twenty
daisy
I’m at the age when it comes to relationships where it’s like, are we doing this or not? I have shit to do.
I have butterflies in my stomach.
All you’re doing is going to class. Relax, this is no big deal.
But Drew Colter is going to be there, and last night you…had a moment.
Had a moment? What are you, 80?
Seems like it sometimes.
I’m in the lecture hall for Mass Comm before Drew arrives, craning my neck unabashedly when he enters from the side doors, my face already lit up with a stupid smile.
Stop, Daisy, or you’re going to look too anxious.
Anxious?
Who cares!
We had a date yesterday and also, that kiss. So what does it matter if I’m smiling at the guy?
I watch as Drew Colter scans the seating and with long strides, makes his way to the other side of the auditorium, glancing around but not as if he’s looking for someone.
I was literally messaging him before we got here, right up to the point where I pulled open the door of the building.
He ignores me.
Doesn’t even turn his head in my direction to the area I normally occupy, where I’m sitting now. Not a single glance.
Is he for real?
Frustrated, I pull out my phone and send off a message.
So is this how we’re doing it, ignoring each other in public?
There. Forward and to the point, no beating around the bush.
Drew:
What do you mean?
You’re sitting here ignoring me.
Are you in class? I don’t see you.
Um. He didn’t so much as look for me, but whatever.
HE IS NOT LOOKING.
I huff, setting my phone aside, hiding the screen by stuffing it in the front pocket of my backpack so I’m not tempted to check for another message from him; I’ll handle this during the break in forty minutes—if I can stand waiting that long.
Why do I feel a little defeated? I hadn’t imagined how well the date went last night, and I certainly hadn’t imagined the erection in his pants as he was kissing me good night. That he can’t fake.
Maybe he was just an asshole.
Maybe he was the stereotypical jockhole, and I was fooling myself.
As the lecture continues, I can hardly concentrate, my mind wandering, replaying every exchange with Drew over and over again from the past two weeks.