Total pages in book: 31
Estimated words: 30148 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 151(@200wpm)___ 121(@250wpm)___ 100(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 30148 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 151(@200wpm)___ 121(@250wpm)___ 100(@300wpm)
I had no clue why girls with fuller top lips than the bottom ones seemed to always have the final word, but Hazel was proof of that. It was like she had to make up for something. And after her first insult, I was freaking obsessed with that full upper lip, as if one taste despite her bitter words would make everything okay. Her eyes were always stormy unless she was reading a stupid book, and her legs dangled so far down when she was in that tree that she’d gotten nicknamed The Jolly Green Giant in school.
That was then. This was…wow.
I crossed the yard and jogged over to her. It was familiar, finding her next to or in the tree. She wore a gorgeous, strappy dress that made you taste summer on your tongue and brought up thoughts I shouldn’t have been thinking. Like kissing her, which I’d always known wouldn’t happen since her dad was certifiable when it came to his daughter dating. One time, at a parent-teacher conference in high school, I’d sworn I’d overheard some kid in the hall crying because Travis had warned every boy in school to keep it in their pants or he’d send Hazel’s great-grandma in to teach them etiquette.
I wasn’t sure what dinner and dress etiquette had to do with anything until I realized that half of them had to take it to graduate. And then I had this very extreme nightmare where she had a needle and kept poking things and laughing while the school burned down around her red high heels.
I shuddered. “Yo.” I wasn’t sure why that was the first word out of my stupid mouth, but I couldn’t take it back. The wind had already brought it to her. “Hazel.”
Her eyes didn’t leave mine as she took a step toward me in her red heels that reminded me of her great-grandma—small kitten heels that could do as much damage as a perfectly pointed stiletto, almost like she was flying incognito for any sad sucker out there who had the balls to hit on her or call her pretty.
I took a step back, then one forward, because…why should I be intimidated? The past was the past, and there was no reason for her to hate me. I was here to—
“You sick, sick, sick…” Okay, why was she repeating sick over and over again? And why did I suddenly feel emotionally attacked with a need to sprint back home to my safe space by my motorcycle? “Bastard.”
Shit, was she going to grab a heel? She reached for one, then the other. Oh, no. She was going for double or nothing.
Was I snake eyes?
She suddenly dropped them and walked barefoot toward me. “You are the absolute worst. Look, I know you’re going through things, too, but you made my life a living hell. And now you have the audacity to be all like, ‘Yo, Hazel’?”
She said it like I was one step away from getting a prison tattoo.
I coughed out a curse and forced my best smile. “I mean, I thought it was more or less like a, yo, Hazel,” I said in a softer, more inviting tone.
She shook her head. Her blond hair was brighter and fell across her shoulders in soft yet aggressive waves. “No, your tone was all, ‘Hey, bro, water under the bridge.’ Well, the water is firmly,”—she huffed—“firmly…“
I frowned. “Under the bridge. Because the flow of water is technically under the bridge, unless you have a flood, which then means you might lose the bridge, and—“
“Stop, just stop.” Tears filled her eyes. “I just graduated, my great-grandma is dead, and I’m celebrating her today. I don’t want to fight. Just go home.”
“But…” I shoved my hands into my pockets, hoping to look innocent. “I just came to say hi.”
“Oh.” She smirked and crossed her arms. “To the gross giant?”
I could have sworn every part of my body went numb. “What are you talking about?” Seriously, what was she talking about?
“I know what you said when the rumor started. That I was the gross giant. And you said it to literally every guy in school. But to have you say it? You know, one time I thought we were friends.”
“We were frenemies. And not to correct you, but I never said that. Asshole Josh Prichards, who always had a stick up his ass because you turned him down, did.”
She looked away and down at the ground where her red shoes lay. Damn, they even looked pretty against the green grass. “Still, you weren’t nice.”
“Guys are rarely nice when they like someone or find them intriguing,” I pointed out as I circled her. “In fact, a lot of times, we default into asshole or stupid mode. It’s the most unfair thing in the world because, the minute you want to say, ‘I like you,’ you end up pulling a ponytail and laughing, or stealing a fruit snack, thinking they’ll chase you and ask why so you can get them alone. Wait, that part sounded creepy. I meant adult fruit snacks. This is not first grade. Actually, I’ll stop talking now. It went downhill after the snack.”