Total pages in book: 86
Estimated words: 85535 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 428(@200wpm)___ 342(@250wpm)___ 285(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 85535 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 428(@200wpm)___ 342(@250wpm)___ 285(@300wpm)
It makes sense that I would date someone in that circle.
Well.
How is that working out for me?
It isn’t awfully late when I return home, but my roommate is not home—I don’t know where she could possibly be on a Sunday night given that we have an early morning, but I’m sure there is a guy involved. There is always a guy involved. If I thought I was bad when it comes to going from one relationship to the next, Kaylee is even worse.
I am wrapped in a bathrobe when I climb into bed, terry cloth turban coiled around my wet hair, having gotten out of the shower just a little bit ago. Freezing cold, I just want to snuggle for a little while before putting my pajamas on.
Yawning, I pull the fuzzy blanket up higher over my torso so it covers my chest, hunkering down.
Just a few minutes and I’ll get dressed.
I stare up at the ceiling, blinking.
Is it odd that I find Roman attractive? He’s not at all my type, but maybe he could be.
What are you talking about, Lilly? You’ve sworn off men. You’re on a cleanse. You’re on a journey to be alone.
I never said I was going to marry the guy, but I can wonder what it would be like to date him. Jeez, get off my back.
Great. Now you’re talking to yourself.
So? Who said talking to yourself isn’t healthy? It’s good to work through problems, no matter how you have to do it.
Journaling would be easier, moron.
Yes, true—but Kaylee can find a journal, and we don’t actually trust her, DO we?
Not even a little.
I slap a hand over my mouth.
I’ve never admitted that to anyone, never even admitted it to myself: I do not trust my roommate. Not after that stunt she pulled with Eliza, kicking her out without telling me then giving me half the blame.
Ruthless.
She would toss me over in a heartbeat.
Friends? Ha!
With friends like her, who needs enemies?
And so, dear mental diary, I keep things to myself and won’t share them with her or with anyone—except maybe Eliza. I can definitely trust her to keep my secrets.
If I had any.
Lies. I have one: I’m developing a crush on the nerdy guy.
I roll to the side and look at the wall where I have motivational quotes taped up where I can see them. I love being inspired as soon as I wake up in the morning and when I lay my head down for bed at night.
Be enough for yourself first. The rest of the world can wait.
It certainly can.
As I move to the side, my robe slides open, the belt loose at my waist. It’s a pink satin robe an aunt—my dad’s sister—gave me for my eighteenth birthday, and I never leave home without it. I feel sexy in it, mature.
Roman’s bedroom smelled like freshly washed sheets, so good I closed my eyes, imagining what kind of cologne he wears. I wasn’t brave enough to sniff him, though, to see if he was wearing it tonight, but I bet he was.
He wore a polo to dinner, for Pete’s sake.
On a Sunday.
How formal are his parents?
Mine aren’t formal, but they were strict, and I would guess—judging by the fastidious way Roman studies—his are strict, too. At least when it comes to school work.
My mother, on the other hand? She couldn’t have cared less what my grades were as long as they were good enough to:
Keep me on the cheer team.
Get me into a decent college where I could be on the cheer team.
Maybe in the spring, when I’m done competing, I should leverage the positions and try to get a job at a dance studio teaching little kids. That would be fun, wouldn’t it? Perhaps I’d learn to love it again seeing it through the eyes of younger children.
That thought warms me the way this silk robe doesn’t, and I pull the blankets tighter against me.
You don’t have a crush on Roman, you’re just lonely.
I am not lonely.
Yes you are—Kyle sucked balls, and you miss the potential he had to be a good boyfriend.
Too damn bad I can’t be in a relationship with potential. Ha!
Exactly.
Yanking the covers up over my head, I scowl, wishing I’d at least flipped the light off before climbing into bed. Also wish I didn’t have to climb out of bed to put my pajamas on, because if I sleep in this robe, I’ll freeze. And if I don’t take this turban off my head and blow-dry my hair, it’ll look so ridiculously shitty in the morning it will be impossible to do without wetting it again.
My bedhead game is strong, and no that is not me bragging.
I have to blow-dry my hair any time I take a shower or get it wet, because yikesss…
Yawning, I feel my eyelids get heavy.